


Circle Shift

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-01
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-04 16:01:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about circles is that they are not inert objects; it’s not in their nature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> I keep forgetting to put beta credit into my AO3 postings. Merry Amelie, mrs_stanley, writestuff: You guys rock!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some aspects of the past repeat themselves, even when it's what you most wish to avoid.

Republic Date 5201: 1/3rd

Jedi Temple, Coruscant

 

Qui-Gon Jinn watched the transport land, raising his robed arm before his face when the repulsorlifts kicked up more dust than he expected.  Since the old creche had come down during the bombing last year, there was a great deal of particle debris floating around the Temple; it had been bad when the Naboo group had left, but didn’t seem much improved, now.  Droids were still trying to clean it up—several of the low-profile sweeper droids scuttled out onto the platform as he watched, trying to capture what they could before the wind took it again.

“Not too bad,” Plo Koon noted in his gravelly voice, ignoring the dust via the safety of the fitted mask that allowed him to breathe in oxygen environments.  “When construction began on the new creche, it was the worst.  A ship would come in for a landing, and everyone would have to stay aboard for half an hour, waiting for the blasted dirt to settle.”

“I’m glad I missed that,” Qui-Gon said, and then sneezed for good measure.

Plo laughed at him.  “If only the rest of the galaxy knew your weakness, Jinn.  All they’d need to do is set up negotiation tables in the dustiest place they could find, and it would be your downfall.”

“Get stuffed,” Qui-Gon snapped back, rubbing his streaming eyes with his fingers.  He’d gotten too used to Kaazcint’s clear air.  At this rate he’d be visiting the Healers for another round of histamine blockers, and he hadn’t needed the damn things in years.

“Sadly, there are none currently willing to volunteer for such pleasures,” Plo said, laying a dramatic hand over his breast.  “Why did you want me to meet Tahl and Micah with you, anyway?  You could have suffered out here alone, and let no one else be the wiser.”

“If I’d met their transport alone, Micah would never disembark, certain I was here to kill him,” Qui-Gon replied, his attention caught by the hiss of the ship’s gangplank being lowered, the pilot now finished with post-flight.

“Hah!” Plo barked out a laugh.  Then he paused.  “Are you here to kill him, Qui-Gon?”

Qui-Gon merely smiled, which made the Kel Dor Master laugh harder.

Most of the passengers had disembarked by the time Tahl sensed them in the crowd and wandered over, a warm smile on her face.  “Hello, Qui-Gon,” she said, lifting both arms to allow him to step into place for the hug she was offering.  That alone was an intriguing process; pregnant Noori showed early and gave birth to enormous babies, as humanoids went.  At seven months, Tahl was quite large.

And the baby was _active._   During an embrace that lasted less than ten seconds, Qui-Gon was kicked soundly three different times.

“He likes you,” Tahl confided, grinning.  “If he doesn’t care for you, he won’t move at all.  We had to change Healers last month when the baby decided he hated Zarcov, and wouldn’t budge an inch for him.”

“Welcome home, Master Tahl,” Plo greeted her next, earning himself a punch to the shoulder from his sister Padawan.    “Ow!  Your mate has my sympathies, T, if you can still hit like that.  Speaking of mates, you seem to be missing someone.”

“Micah’s hiding on board, and wants written amnesty before he’ll come near you,” Tahl told Qui-Gon, patently amused.

“And you’re not worried?” he asked.

“Qui-Gon, if you were angry, you wouldn’t be here.  How he’s not learned that lesson in all these years, I’ve no blasted idea,” Tahl said with a derisive snort. 

He found himself grinning.  “Well, let’s go then.”

“Oh?” Tahl smiled in response, allowing Qui-Gon to take her left arm and lead her into the Temple proper.  Plo Koon flanked her on the right, chortling almost non-stop into his mask.

“He’ll come out when he’s hungry,” Qui-Gon said smoothly, mentally counting down in his mind…

A mock-sniff and pathetic whine came through the old pair-bond eight seconds later.  _You don’t love me anymore?_

That did it; Tahl’s composure broke, and she clutched her stomach with one hand while she laughed.

 _I can’t quite recall saying that I ever did,_ Qui-Gon replied, while Plo tilted his head curiously and Tahl tried, between giggles, to explain to him what was going on.

 _That’s it!  Qui-Gon Jinn, I want a divorce!_ Micah retorted.

 _A good thing, too, given that your wife is going to wind up laughing herself into labor,_ Qui-Gon replied, taking note of Tahl’s red face.

 _What!?_  

Qui-Gon couldn’t have gotten Micah to join them faster if explosives had been involved.  Micah was present in moments, limping badly from using Force-enhanced speed.  “What is—oh, she’s _fine,_ ” Micah said, sounding aggrieved as he took in his flush-faced, dancing-eyed spouse.  “Noorians are just giggling lunatics while pregnant.”

“And you’re an overly concerned father-to-be,” Tahl pointed out, smiling.  “Who shall refrain from calling me a lunatic if he wants to live to see his son born.”

 “Ah, yes.  Speaking of threatening Master Giett with bodily harm,” Qui-Gon began, turning an appropriately cool gaze upon one of his oldest friends.

Micah wilted.  “Er—‘lo, Qui-Gon.  Do you like the new place?”

Qui-Gon stepped forward until he was nose-to-nose with Micah, who held remarkably still.  “Micah Giett?”

“Yes?” Micah asked, starting to smile.  The blasted fiend knew he was safe.  Player.

“You live by virtue of a tub,” Qui-Gon said, which set all three of his companions off laughing again.

 

*          *          *          *

 

_“Dammit, Master Yoda, I said no,” Obi-Wan growled, getting up from his knees to go glare out the window, if only so he wasn’t glowering down at the ancient, meddling troll that had come to visit him.  Two days downtime from intergalactic conflict had sounded nice, at first.  If Obi-Wan had known that it would involve manipulation from an ancient Master, he would have turned it down.  Jango Fett’s cloned troops were easier to spend time with, even if it meant sitting in the mud under a barrage of gunfire._

_“A Padawan, you_ should _take,” Yoda insisted, hobbling over before leaning heavily on his gimer stick.  Sometimes Yoda played up his age with the old staff, but right then, Obi-Wan knew that none of it was faked.  The damned war was taking its toll on all of them.  Hadn’t he awoken that morning, and realized he didn’t recognize his own face in the mirror?_

 _“Considering the trial that Anakin’s training was, I do believe the Council granted me an exemption until I felt ready to do the job a second time,” Obi-Wan said, resisting the urge to sigh._ And it would be a Padawan of _my_ choosing, _he thought with a touch of bitterness.  None of that was directed at Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker, but he felt it, nonetheless._

_“True, this is,” Yoda admitted.  “However, circumstances, never this dire did we foresee them, Obi-Wan,” the Master said, shocking Obi-Wan when no title was applied to his name.  Yoda spoke to people in such a way rarely._

_It was a sign that the tiny being considered them friends._

_Yoda turned pensive eyes out to the skyline that Obi-Wan had chosen to stare at.  “Needed you are, my friend,” he murmured._

_Obi-Wan did sigh, then.  Duty.  Damn Yoda for playing that card, anyway.  He knew it was part of being Jedi, to take one of the young Initiates and guide him or her along the path to Knighthood.  But in that he was much like Qui-Gon Jinn; he didn’t yet feel like he had the strength of heart to give a youngling everything he or she needed, and that wouldn’t be fair to whatever Padawan the Council tried to foist upon him.  Not that it would matter to Yoda.  The old Master was a firm believer in the healing power of children.  Obi-Wan, meanwhile, had found that two years of intense conflict had ground his beliefs down to “tea” and “sleep.”_

_“Do you have someone in mind?”_

_Yoda frowned, shaking his head.  “No,” he said, surprising Obi-Wan yet again.  “No Padawans have I sent, not since Padawan Tano.”_

_How curious.  “Then why ask me now?”_

_Yoda smiled, though it was a tired, aching expression, and echoed the exhaustion in the Master’s pale green eyes.  “Tell us, the Force will, when time it is right.  Then, Padawan you will take, hmm?”_

 

Obi-Wan was startled out of his memories when the door to their new quarters opened on a wave of laughter.  He’d been thinking about that long-ago conversation a lot since Jeila Vin had shoved her way into his life, and was pleased to be distracted. 

He smiled as Micah entered, hand-in-hand with his pregnant lifemate.  Qui-Gon palmed the door closed behind them, and the warm smile on his lips was reserved just for Obi-Wan.

“You brought home _more_ strays?” Obi-Wan couldn’t resist asking, the perfect blend of exasperation and teasing in his voice.

“They followed me here,” Qui-Gon replied, just as lightly.  “What else was I to do?”

“Hello, Tahl,” Obi-Wan said, stepping into the hug that the older woman offered.  “And hello, little one,” he greeted, sensing the blatantly Force-sensitive boy growing in his mother’s womb.  “Does he have a name yet?”

“Yes,” Tahl grumbled, scowling.  “Mister Kicky-Keeps-Mummy-Up-At-Night-With-Heartburn Giett.”

“We’re working on a shorter version,” Micah confided, grinning and clasping Obi-Wan’s arm before drawing him into a fierce embrace.  “I hear you like the new digs, Kid.”

“The tub is nice, yes,” Obi-Wan replied, smiling.  “You seem to be missing a companion, Qui.  What happened to Master Plo?”

“Called away on Council business,” Qui-Gon said from the kitchen, making tea for all four of them.  “He said something about soothing ruffled feathers.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said blandly, handing Tahl a pillow to put behind her back as she settled onto the couch.  Micah perched on the couch’s arm, the extra height leaving him more comfortable there because of the ever-present brace on his leg.

Qui-Gon came out with two mugs, giving Obi-Wan a curious look.  “You didn’t have something to do with that, did you?  It was a routine set of questions regarding Jeila.  It can’t have gone that badly.”

“That might have been me, yes,” he admitted, thumping himself down in the chair opposite the couch, breathing out a long sigh.

“Did you yell at them, too, love?” Qui-Gon asked, shaking his head as he gave Tahl and Micah each a mug of steaming red tea.  “Two Council groups in two days—you’ll break my old record yet.”

“I didn’t yell, no,” Obi-Wan said, wondering if he really was an absolute glutton for punishment.  Given his track record, it would seem so.  “Yarael Poof has resigned his seat.”

Tahl, Micah, and Qui-Gon froze in place, turning their heads to give him near-identical stares of disbelief.  “What—what in the blasted Force _happened_?” Micah asked, nonplussed.  “The man held one of the five permanent seats, and considering how long his ass has been attached to it, I didn’t think he would ever resign!”

“I believe he made the decision when I told Master Rancisis to kindly take a nice, long stroll off of a very short landing platform,” Obi-Wan admitted.

Tahl burst out laughing.  Qui-Gon gave him a measuring look.  “Your diplomatic skills do not seem to have returned to Coruscant with you, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan flushed; Qui-Gon had called him that only a handful of times since Yinchorr, usually because he was about to do, or had done, something ill-advised.  “In my defense, it was in response to one of the more outrageous statements I’ve ever heard a Jedi Master say.”

“Back up.  Let’s try to tell this story in order.  What’s this about Jeila?  Is this the same Jeila Vin?” Tahl asked, turning her sightless eyes upon him and pinning him with eerie accuracy.

Obi-Wan accepted the warm mug from Qui-Gon, who seemed inclined to listen before commenting further.  He was grateful, since there were things that just weren’t given vent to when standing before the High Council, whether it was three of them or all of them.  “The same Jeila, yes,” he said, detailing his visit to the creche yesterday evening, and the Force-driven training bond that had resulted between himself and the three-year-old girl.

“So today you saw the Council’s standard response to those who have been trying to buck the system,” Micah said thoughtfully.  At Obi-Wan’s curious look, he nodded.  “Ever since the Sandrunner twins were apprenticed to Master Tratacek, other Masters and Knights have stepped forward, wanting to apprentice pairs or trios instead of a single student.  They’ve referenced history, and in half of the proposed Master-student pairings, the Force itself is supporting the choices.  Some groups have Force-driven bonds already, like you and Jeila.”

“None of them have been approved except Tratacek, and so far the Council is using the excuse that the clan nature of their species, and the mental bond between the Sandrunner twins, creates a special exception.  No, not everyone on the Council is opposed,” Tahl continued, as if sensing Obi-Wan’s renewed stir of temper.  “The problem is, a unanimous vote is needed to override a part of the Code that’s almost one thousand years old, and the final four are _not_ changing their minds.”

“Oppo Rancisis, Depa Billaba, Eeth Koth, and Saesee Tiin,” Obi-Wan ground out.

“ _Depa?_ ” Qui-Gon repeated, incredulous.  “And not Yarael?”  He disappeared into the kitchen long enough to drag out one of the kitchen chairs to sit in.  Obi-Wan made a mental note:  Find more furniture.

“Strangely enough, no,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head.  It was nice to be right, sometimes; the Quermian really was contrary and cantankerous because he wanted to be.  Yarael Poof had spent a self-admitted number of delightful years playing the role of Sith’s advocate for the Council.  “And Depa’s not as flexible as one might think.  She wouldn’t have Fallen on Haruun Kal, otherwise,” he said, thinking about the Council seat that had suddenly become his responsibility, once upon a time.

He _still_ didn’t want it back.

“Depa may change her mind, considering that Mace’s support of the issue has become far more vocal, of late.” Tahl sipped at her tea.  “But Eeth Koth was a surprise, as was Saesee.”

“And Master Rancisis, much like Yoda, prefers his own counsel a great deal of the time,” Qui-Gon said.  “When he takes a liking to a particular line of thought, you’d have better luck changing Coruscant’s orbit than getting him to reconsider his opinion.”

“For now, the matter is just being argued about, as all of the children are under the age of twelve,” Micah went on, nodding his agreement of Qui-Gon’s assessment of the other Master’s character.  “In your case, it’s also quite likely that Anakin will be a Knight before Jeila’s apprenticeship with you begins.  But the time will come soon when the issue _will_ be forced, and the Order is going to be in sorry shape by then if we can’t get past this way of thinking.”

“Has it been this way for so long, though?” Obi-Wan asked, putting down his tea and running his hands through his hair, aggravated.  “And I quote, ‘The will of Force is secondary to what is best for the Jedi Order.’  I stood there and heard those words, and still don’t believe Master Rancisis _said_ them.”

Micah nodded again, rueful.  “That’s what I came up against, time and time again, when I was on the Council.  The Force’s messages were set against the Code, and the Code always came first.”

“I do believe we had much the same conversation with the Council two years ago, when I asked a similar question regarding our Initiates’ training,” Qui-Gon said quietly, gazing into his mug.  “There were no satisfactory answers given, and I’m not surprised that there are none, now.”

“But it’s _wrong,_ Qui-Gon!” Obi-Wan burst out, just barely resisting the urge to get up and pace the room.  Intellectually, he had known that these were problems he would face, but being directly confronted with it was more trying, more frustrating, than he’d ever suspected.  “How can _any_ Jedi believe that the Force is not the determining factor for teaching a student, or for leading a Temple full of Jedi?  It’s blatant hypocrisy!”

“And you said as much, I imagine,” Qui-Gon surmised with a wry smile.  Diplomatic slip forgiven.

“You must have missed out on some fun Council sessions during your particular tenure,” Micah commented.  “Especially if you never got to confront this particular mindset before.”

“It was there, but by then it was…very much a tertiary concern,” Obi-Wan said, giving up and throwing himself out of his chair to pace, anyway.  “I was busy much of the time far from Coruscant.  Hell, for the most part, only one or two members of the Council would be here, with the rest of us scattered across the galaxy.  There wasn’t really an opportunity to argue policy.”

Qui-Gon was watching Obi-Wan, a suspicious look in his eyes.  “Yarael named you his successor, didn’t he?”

Obi-Wan groaned and covered his face with his hands.  “Yes.”

Micah let out a whoop of laughter.  “Oh, so he won’t take my Council seat, but he’ll take the permanent one, huh?”

“That’s not helping!” Obi-Wan retorted, dropping his hands to glare at the other Master.  “I didn’t want it.  I _still_ don’t want it!” 

“And yet, you didn’t say no, either,” Tahl guessed.  “Why not?”

Obi-Wan went back to his chair, slumping down into it.  “When he announced his resignation, Yarael stood up and said that the Council needed my experience more than it needed his.  And as much as I truly hate admitting it—he’s right.  Adi, Mace, and Master Yoda might have seen my memories, but that’s not going to be enough when it comes to convincing the rest of the Council that the Order is heading down a self-destructive path.  I looked up the numbers; in only the last ten years, we’ve lost one thousand from our roster, and we’re not bringing in new Jedi to counter the loss.  If that continues, we’ll be extinct inside a century.”

“Damn,” Qui-Gon breathed.  “I knew it was bad.  I mentioned our dwindling numbers to them, myself.  But I hadn’t realized our ranks had fallen so sharply, so _fast_.”

Tahl smiled.  “We just need to get the pair of you onto the Council, and then we’ll have far less to worry about.”

“ _Hell_ no!” Qui-Gon bellowed, at the same moment that Micah said, “Not possible.”  Micah and Qui-Gon grinned at each other before Micah explained.  “No working or mated pairs can sit on the High Council.  There’s a very real concern about conflict of interest, one the Order currently can’t afford.”

“Sith, I forgot about that rule— _oh,_ ” Obi-Wan said, eyes widening as the realization struck him.  “That’s why.  That’s why Mace won’t court Adi.”

“He doesn’t want to lose her voice on the Council.  As much as he loves her, he knows she’s needed there, more,” Micah confirmed.  “Since he’s Head of the Order, Adi would insist that she be the one to resign, not Mace.  The rule isn’t common knowledge, and I don’t even think Adi herself has realized the true reason she can’t gain his favor publicly.”

“Well, that’s depressing,” Obi-Wan muttered, then almost jumped out of his skin when the commlink he’d unthinkingly shoved into his trouser pocket chirped, signaling an incoming message.  He swore and dug it out, holding it up to view the text that had been left in lieu of voice.  “They’re voting _already?_ ”

“You’re screwed,” Micah gloated, chuckling.  “Even if Masters Koth, Billaba, Tiin, and Rancisis don’t want to deal with you as a co-Councilor, they’d be foolish to vote against you right now.”

“Huh?  Why?” Obi-Wan asked, giving Micah a bewildered look.

“Because you’re famous, silly git,” Tahl said, and grinned when he snorted in disbelief.  “Obi-Wan, you and Qui-Gon fought a Sith Apprentice and won.  Then, while still recovering from a near-fatal wound, you crawled out of bed and took on the _Master_.  By _yourself._   Forget what the news feeds say about the matter—to the Jedi Order, you’re a hero.”

“I’m an _idiot,_ ” Obi-Wan argued, feeling a blush rise on his cheeks that he couldn’t stop.  “That was foolishness, not heroics!”

“At the time, we didn’t know that,” Qui-Gon told him, but he was smiling, and his eyes were dancing with repressed, playful mirth.  “You’ve made yourself a powerful figure in the Temple machine, love.  Now you get to suffer the consequences.”

“Fuck,” Obi-Wan grumbled, dropping his head back to stare at the ceiling.  The politics were already in full swing.  He’d never enjoyed that aspect of Temple life, and throwing himself back into it was not something he’d ever envisioned.  “Fine.  But we need to get out of this Temple as soon as possible, before anything _else_ gets the drop on us.  At this rate we’ll be buried in work before the week is out.”

Micah coughed, and when he spoke again his discomfort was practically tangible.  “We do have news of our own.  It’s not joyous, but it’s not related to Council policy…”

“Have at it, Mic,” Qui-Gon said, lips quirking in another smile.  “Might as well get all of it out of the way at once.”

“We weren’t gone from Coruscant out of fear of being slain, however justified the feeling might have been.”  Micah winked at his long-time friend, who merely rolled his eyes.

“Jenna Zan Arbor escaped from the Trillust penal colony,” Tahl said.

For a moment there was only silence.  “Did she,” Qui-Gon uttered at last, his voice like ice.

“She’s early,” Obi-Wan noted, reaching through the Lifebond to soothe his mate.  Obi-Wan had reasons to loathe Zan Arbor.  Qui-Gon had reasons to wish her wiped from existence.  “Zan Arbor wasn’t due to escape for at least five more years.”

“How?” Qui-Gon bit out, putting down his mug on the side table and folding his hands in his lap. 

“Boldly.  The bitch walked out the front door,” Micah said, scowling.  “Her old friend, Uta S’orn, paid off the warden.  Zan Arbor’s exit from the facility was listed in the records as a successful escape attempt, and it took Tahl and myself less than six hours to prove otherwise.  The warden is currently in custody while other successful escapes are investigated, in case it’s not the only bribe he accepted.”

“And Zan Arbor?” Obi-Wan wanted to know.  He’d hunted that woman down _five separate times._   And each time, Zan Arbor had managed to weasel her way out of capture or captivity.

“Not your concern,” Tahl told him, her eyes almost blazing with anger.  She also had been part of the team of Jedi that had helped Obi-Wan rescue Qui-Gon from Zan Arbor.  She had no love for the illicit geneticist, either.  “You both have enough to worry about, and Zan Arbor is being actively hunted by several pairs.”

Obi-Wan nodded sharply and held his tongue, much as he wanted to protest.  That explained Quinlan’s early return to the Temple.  Padmé Amidala had a new Jedi team assigned to her for her protection, but unlike Quinlan Vos and Aayla Secura, the new Jedi would remain in the shadows, unknown to the Queen and court of Naboo.

Zan Arbor would likely prove to be Quinlan’s most intriguing hunt yet.  Obi-Wan expected that whichever Council member handled the matter would be reading field reports full of foul language.  Still, the entire idea of Zan Arbor’s early escape made him nervous; she was the vengeful sort, and he doubted that eight years were enough for her to forgive and forget. 

 _I don’t think eight_ centuries _would be enough for that woman,_ Qui-Gon growled.

“How did _S’orn_ get out of prison, anyway?” Obi-Wan asked, trying to give them both something else to focus on.  “She was serving a life sentence in Kelsink.”  Not the harsh place that Trillust was, a courtesy the woman had been granted after what had happened to S’orn’s child.  It was the only bit of leniency the former Senator had been shown by the courts.  “Neither of them should be in a position to create trouble.”

“And yet, they are.”  Micah shrugged.  “I have no idea, and neither does anyone else.  There isn’t even a record of Uta S’orn’s time in the Kelsink prison.  Her file was wiped clean.”

“Granta, perhaps?” Qui-Gon speculated.  “He did employ her services in the past.  Future.  Whenever,” he said, sighing, and Obi-Wan gave him a helpless look.  Almost six years since Taro Tre, and trying to file the events of his life in order was still more theory than measurement.

“Maybe,” Tahl acknowledged.  “But there are several Jedi watching him, as well.  So far, Granta Omega has committed no crime other than being a young, arrogant twit among Telos’s aristocracy.”

“Palpatine,” Obi-Wan said, and a bone-numbing chill flooded his limbs.  “He knows who they are.  More importantly, he knows for certain that Zan Arbor and Uta S’orn consider myself and Qui-Gon to be enemies.”

“Which would mean he may not be leveling the playing field so much as flooding it.”  Micah grimaced.  “Sounds like he’s ready to start a war.”

“Quite,” Qui-Gon said brusquely, meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes.  “That’s exactly what he’s trying to do.”

“I’ll mention it to MonMassa.  That woman is pulling on my ear anytime I’m not busy with baby-things or Padawan-coaching,” Micah said, stretching his arms. “Speaking of which, we’ll be late to see our new Healer if we don’t go now.”

“You’ll have plenty of experience when it’s your son pulling your ear, then,” Qui-Gon said, as all three of them stood, ready to help Tahl.

The Noorian glared up at them through narrowed eyes.  “I am pregnant, not crippled.  Save the damn chivalry for when I’ll really need it.”

“Next week?” Micah suggested innocently, and winced when one of the couch pillows flew up and smacked him hard in the groin.  “I love you, too,” he squeaked out, still offering his hand to his wife.

“Then I’ve trained you well,” Tahl retorted, but she was smiling again.

 

*          *          *          *

 

The moment Qui-Gon had seen their guests to the door, Obi-Wan reclaimed the armchair, a rueful expression on his face.  “Whatever you’re going to say, say it.  I know you’ve been holding your tongue.”

“Have I?” Qui-Gon asked, returning mugs to the kitchen.  In truth, he did have something in mind, but doubted it was what Obi-Wan expected.  His mate was wound tight, tension near-visible in his frame, and he hadn’t even been formally accepted to the Council yet. 

That would have to be derailed, before bad habits had a chance to re-seat themselves.  Qui-Gon had been shown what the stress of that particular responsibility had once done to Obi-Wan, and didn’t wish to see it repeated.

“You have a telling expression,” Obi-Wan said, as Qui-Gon returned to the main room.  Sure enough, there was a furrow on Obi-Wan’s brow, and no doubt a million thoughts churning in that elegant mind.

Qui-Gon knelt, gracefully seating himself between Obi-Wan’s legs, his arms resting on Obi-Wan’s thighs.  “As do you,” he said, reaching up to poke the furrow with his index finger.

Obi-Wan jerked his head back, but smiled to acknowledge the point.  “All right, so I have.”

Qui-Gon tilted his head, amused.  Obi-Wan’s vocal patterns kept shifting, of late; right now he sounded like the much older man he, in truth, really was.  His age, experience, knowledge—those things were always in his eyes now, never hidden.  That combined with the stress lines at the corners of his eyes, and the sometimes hard set to his mouth—no one mistook Qui-Gon’s mate for a youth.  Not anymore.

“What?” Obi-Wan asked, when he must have felt that the staring had gone on too long.

“I was just thinking how very proud of you I am,” Qui-Gon murmured.

Obi-Wan’s cheeks flamed.  “Shut up,” he grumbled, though he was fighting a smile, as well.

“Speak up, shut up…” Qui-Gon shook his head.  “You’ll have to make up your mind.  Which is it?”

“Qui-Gon—” Obi-Wan bit his lip, flustered, something he rarely allowed anyone else to see.

Of course, it might have had something to do with the intentional position of Qui-Gon’s hands, his fingertips resting on rucked fabric just shy of the other man’s groin.  “Two words, then.”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes.  “It takes three words to say ‘You’re an idiot.’”

Qui-Gon smiled.  “Would I say such a thing?”

“No.  You tend to be…far more subtle,” Obi-Wan replied, the big muscles in his thighs twitching when Qui-Gon lifted his fingers, putting them back down in the same position.  “What words, then?” Obi-Wan asked, heat rising from his skin in a radiant wave.

“Blow job?” Qui-Gon suggested, as if the words had only just occurred to him.

“Oh.  Those two words,” Obi-Wan said, his voice hitching.  “Rather nice, those two words, especially when put together.”

Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan, his hands steadily unfastening the trousers that were blocking his way.  “Shut up, Ben.”

“Shuttin’ up,” Obi-Wan complied, then promptly bit his lip again when Qui-Gon lowered his head, blowing a breath of air against the lower half of the fastenings, pulling a shocked squeak from Obi-Wan.  Qui-Gon was starting to suspect Obi-Wan preferred trousers over leggings of late because of how much fun it could be to take them off. 

And, well.  It _was_ fun.

Qui-Gon took his time undoing the line of buttons, the fastenings similar to the leather pants from their first time.  Obi-Wan’s cock was straining to meet him; the man had neglected smallclothes. 

“Naughty man.  Did you go see the Council dressed like this?” he teased.

“Oh, _fuck_ no!” Obi-Wan shook his head in fierce denial.  “Changed when I got back.”

“That does remind me, though.  There seems to be a lack of leather in our lives,” Qui-Gon said, glancing up, letting his fingers linger over the final button.  At this point it had to be uncomfortable, but Obi-Wan liked their teasing and by-play.

“Uh—leather?  Oh!  Right!” Obi-Wan stammered, his face already flushed.  “Need to find another pair.  Gained enough height over the past year that they don’t fit.  Too short.  Suspect clean farm air and lots of sex might have influenced the matter of my height, since I’m actually a few centimeters taller than I recall.”

“Interesting theory,” Qui-Gon said mildly, running his fingertips down the thick vein, silk and steel beneath his fingers. Obi-Wan swore at him in some very colorful trade language with his hands clenched, white-knuckled, on the arms of the chair.  “But still: leather?”

“What?  Yes, yes, I’ll even let you pick out the damned things,” Obi-Wan babbled, shuddering violently as Qui-Gon undid the last button, freeing him from confinement.  “Just— Qui!” he hissed, as Qui-Gon ran his thumb across the head of Obi-Wan’s cock, still with nothing more than a light, teasing caress.

“Yes?” he said, stilling his hand, looking up.

Obi-Wan stared down at him, lips parted, eyes wide and shining and frantic.  He looked like he was on the verge of tears—far more tense, more distressed, than Qui-Gon had initially surmised.  _“Please,_ ” Obi-Wan whispered, and Qui-Gon felt his heart clench.

Teasing, then, was definitely not what the situation called for.  “As you wish,” Qui-Gon said, and swallowed him down.

Obi-Wan shrieked at the sudden, warm, intense contact, almost bucking them both off of the chair as his hips jerked in response. _Hold still,_ Qui-Gon ordered, resting more of his body weight on his arms to help pin his mate in place.  He received a semi-coherent whimper in response.

The chime of a comm a short distance from his ears grated against his ears; Obi-Wan twitched, swore viciously, and fumbled in his trouser pocket for it while Qui-Gon chuckled against his skin.  “Fucking hells, not _now_!”  The comm went flying, landing with a crack somewhere behind Qui-Gon.

Distraction removed, Qui-Gon resumed exploring with his mouth.  His senses were flooded with the smell of his mate, light clean sweat and thick cloth and the glorious essence of aroused human male.  There was salt-sweet on his tongue and he smiled in the midst of what he was doing; even in this, Obi-Wan’s taste always reminded him of tea.

 _Because I apparently marinate in it_ , Obi-Wan sent him wryly.  He was already calmer, less tense beneath Qui-Gon’s hands.

 _You’re too coherent_ , Qui-Gon replied.  _Sit still and let me do this._   For all that Obi-Wan spoke of Qui-Gon and his “command mode,” Obi-Wan’s case of it was far worse.  The man could rival Mace for poise and control, and much of that reserve had returned to Obi-Wan’s countenance the moment they’d come back to the Temple.

Taking down those walls, taking apart that control, was a challenge he relished, something that Obi-Wan always happily, willingly surrendered to—usually with relief.  Qui-Gon felt that same acquiescence now, and set to work turning his mate into a quivering, loud, demanding mess.  Obi-Wan’s hands tangled in his hair when Qui-Gon began an artful, prolonged teasing of Obi-Wan’s glans.  

He could tell when Obi-Wan finally relaxed, because the Lifebond went from a shared trickle of awareness to a whitewater rush of shared feeling.  The sensation of what he was doing to his mate’s cock doubled back on him: tightness and slick, hot heat, sliding slippery teasing, pressure to release to intense, intense pressure—

Qui-Gon went from half-hard to painfully erect in seconds, and moaned around the cock in his mouth.

“Oh, oh, _gods,_ ” Obi-Wan groaned, and his hands tightened on Qui-Gon’s hair.  “I’m sorry, I can’t—I can’t—” and then he was coming, keening out a harsh cry as he filled Qui-Gon’s mouth.

Qui-Gon pulled back and swallowed what he’d been given, his mouth flooded by the scent/taste of bitterness, his eyes squeezed shut as every single shard of orgasm struck him through the unshielded bond.  “Sweet little—” he cut short his reply, gritting his teeth as he struggled to get a hand into his leggings, coming the moment his fingers found straining flesh.  His vision going white, Qui-Gon shoved a fist into his mouth and bit down, bowed by intensity and a tiny thread of fear that his scream would have seemed marked by pain instead of pleasure.

“Holy…fuck, Qui,” Obi-Wan rasped out, his hand pulling free of Qui-Gon’s hair to come down in a heavy, awkward pat on Qui-Gon’s shoulder.  “What in the entire galaxy was that all about?”

Qui-Gon drew in deep breath after breath, just shy of panting and feeling like he’d run meters through Coruscant streets.  “Stress relief,” he managed to say.  “Feel any better?”

“I feel like my skull melted.”

That felt like an apt description.  He raised his head and looked at Obi-Wan.  His mate was flushed and glassy-eyed, and gazed back at him with a silly, lopsided, open-mouthed smile on his face, which made Qui-Gon grin.  “You look better.”

Obi-Wan snickered and touched the corner of Qui-Gon’s mouth, his fingertips coming away smeared with white.  “Messy,” he said, and popped his fingers into his mouth.

Qui-Gon felt his stomach jolt at the sight, and his cock, so recently spent, gave a great twitch.  “Please don’t do that,” he begged, putting his face back down on Obi-Wan’s lap.  “Oh, sweet Force, that was evil.”

“Was it?” Obi-Wan asked in a deceptively bland, bored tone that didn’t fool Qui-Gon at all.  “Oh, don’t worry.  I have no intention of trying anything else right now.  I don’t think I could stand up.  In either fashion,” he continued, when Qui-Gon started to laugh.

Neither of them felt compelled to move at all, which led to several peaceful moments of mutual basking.  The channel of the Lifebond quieted once more, its natural shielding falling into place.  _Else we’d live in each other’s pockets all the time, and possibly go mad,_ Qui-Gon thought.  In that way they were very much alike; they both had times where solitude was not preferred so much as it was necessary to keep nerves from fraying.

“Are you all right?” Qui-Gon asked, sensing a partial return of his mate’s uneasy thoughts.

Silence stretched between them for long minutes.  “I don’t want to do this,” Obi-Wan said at last, a heavy, melancholy tone in his voice that Qui-Gon had not heard in some time.  “I really did prefer the simplicity, the _routineness_ , of what you and I did together for mission work.  I don’t regret our bond, or our Padawans.”  Obi-Wan ran his hands through Qui-Gon’s hair, teasing with restless fingers.  “But I worked hard, after the Yinchorri Accord, to stay off of the Council’s radar.  I didn’t want to be…this,” he said, shifting in the chair.  “I liked being Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight, not Obi-Wan Kenobi, Councilor and savior of the fucking galaxy.”

“But you already have been,” Qui-Gon murmured, lifting his head.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and breathed out a long sigh.  “And that’s exactly why I don’t want to do it again.”

The commlink Obi-Wan had tossed began chirping for attention, but it sounded… muffled.  There was a tinny, uneven quality to the tone that didn’t match the chime he’d heard a few minutes ago.  Qui-Gon sat back on his haunches, trying to find the device, but didn’t see it anywhere on the furniture or carpet.  “Obi-Wan, where is it?”

To his surprise, Obi-Wan blushed deep red and then pointed up somewhere behind Qui-Gon.  He half-turned, tracking the line of Obi-Wan’s finger—“Obi-Wan!”

“It _startled_ me!”

“It’s embedded in the _wall_ , Ben!” Qui-Gon replied, shoulders shaking with laughter as he took in the commlink’s new position.  The rounded end of it was protruding from the wall, while the rest of it was buried in the plaster.  A web of cracks had spawned around the device.  If Qui-Gon stood, the comm would still be at least a half-meter above his head.  “I’m not reporting that to the Quartermaster.”

“I’m not reporting it at all,” Obi-Wan retorted, but the smile he’d fought was in full bloom.  “Force, it’s our first week back and I already need a new commlink.”

“You’re just going to leave it there?” Qui-Gon asked, getting to his feet and pulling Obi-Wan up with him.  They needed a shower.  A bath.  A dunking in the stone pool.  Something that involved lots of cool water on his still-overheated skin.

“Why not?” Obi-Wan said, grinning up at Qui-Gon as he re-buttoned his trousers.  “It makes a nice souvenir.  Anytime I feel out of sorts, I can glance up at the wall and remember far more pleasant things.”

The comm in the wall gave up on chiming; seconds later, it was Qui-Gon’s that started beeping for attention.  He answered it, aware that it was likely someone looking for Obi-Wan, given he’d missed two calls in a row.

“Qui-Gon, I’ve been trying to reach your spouse,” Mace said, his tone full of disgruntlement.  “Why isn’t that man answering his comm?”

“I believe the device in question is currently unavailable,” Qui-Gon said without hesitation, which made Obi-Wan cover his mouth with his hand to hold back a laugh.

“Uh-huh,” Mace growled.  “Then is _he_ available?”

Qui-Gon handed his comm to Obi-Wan, who took it with a barely restrained smirk.  “Yes, Master Windu?”

“Whatever is wrong with your comm, don’t tell me, _ever_ ,” the Councilor said.  “I thought you’d like to know:  You’ve been voted in.  Congratulations.”

“Fuck,” Obi-Wan grumbled.  Qui-Gon hadn’t expected anything different, but it was obvious his mate was still unhappy with the news.  “When is Confirmation?”

“Well, Adi suggests that if you wish to keep our fellow Councilors on their toes, now would be a good idea.  That is, if you still remember your vows.”

“Mace, I could probably recite them in my sleep,” Obi-Wan replied, rubbing his face.  _A twenty-one year-old Councilor?  Had they_ ever _done that?_

 _I’ve no idea,_ Qui-Gon replied in response to the question.  _But if change is what we’re after, love, then this is a good way to start.  Break the molds early._

Obi-Wan nodded _.  I_ _turn twenty-two in a week.  Or sixty-four.  Still the worst birthday present I can think of._

 _I’ll be providing a better one,_ Qui-Gon said, quickly shielding when Obi-Wan dove into his thoughts for hints.

 _Tease._   “Mace, now is as good a time as ever,” Obi-Wan said aloud.  “Give me a half-hour to change clothes, and I’ll meet you upstairs.”

“Find Adi, myself, Master Yoda, and Master Yarael in the meeting room just prior to the Council antechamber,” Mace said.  “You get a quick grilling from your sponsors before we go in.”

“All four of you?” Obi-Wan asked, smiling a bit.  Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, appreciative.  It was nice to have support of that caliber.

“Good first impressions, and all that,” Mace responded.  “See you soon.”

Obi-Wan shut down the comm and handed it back to Qui-Gon, who was fighting a smile and mischievous thoughts.  “What is it, you?”

“I’ll give you fifty credits if you say your vows backwards,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan sputtered out a laugh.  Qui-Gon smiled, pleased with the results of his efforts.  “Do you want any of us there for Confirmation?”

Obi-Wan waved his hand, shaking his head.  “No, no.  This is the boring, informal part, for all that it’s what winds up in the Archive records.  Now, the Senate Confirmation—that, I’ll take as much support as I can get.”

“You just want someone to hide behind,” Qui-Gon couldn’t resist teasing.

“You’re damn right,” Obi-Wan retorted, heading for the ‘fresher.  “I’d rather be in a space battle piloting a broken TIE fighter than submitting myself to those dunderheads for interrogation.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Qui-Gon gave Anakin the news when the two Padawans got back in the evening from a shared late class.  Raallandirr and Anakin both needed to take assessment tests, as their educational placement was not the same as it had been before Naboo.  In the meantime, they had kept to the standard schedules for Padawans in their development range. 

By then, the Council meeting and Confirmation had been underway for several hours, and Qui-Gon suspected it would be a while yet before Obi-Wan made it home.  He also thought that Mace, Adi, and Yoda, now that they had Obi-Wan in their clutches, were using the opportunity to press forward with some of the more radical ideas they had been tossing about during the past year. 

“I’m a Council Padawan, now?” Anakin shook his head, a frown on his face.  “What was he _thinking?_ ”

“Of doing the right thing, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said, voice lightly remonstrative.  Anakin flushed as he caught the subtle rebuke.

“Right.  Duty, I know.  But Master Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan tends to become buried in short order, once he opens this kind of door.”

[Skywalker, Master will _never_ let Obi-Wan do himself in via Council work,] Rillian said, hanging her bandolier up on one of the coat hooks next to the door, running her hands down her torso to smooth out her fur.   [He’d kidnap us all, first.]

Qui-Gon smiled.  “True enough.  I would resort to that, if I thought it necessary.  And don’t worry, Anakin,” he said, looking down at the Padawan in question.  “I know what you mean.  It _won’t_ be like that again.  All three of us can see to that.”

Teya looked up from the couch and _meff’d_ at Qui-Gon, lashing his tail.  “And yes, you, too,” Qui-Gon added, and the cat put his head back down, mollified.

[Should we wait for him before having dinner, then?] Rillian asked, declaring the matter settled.  If only everything in their lives were that simple.

Qui-Gon touched on the Lifebond, listening in for a moment to the whirl of mental activity that was his mate’s perspective.

_Fuck’s sake, Eeth, physiology has nothing to do with it—Force! I have not had enough to drink for this—_

He distanced himself from Obi-Wan before he could be sucked in, for the snippet of thought spoke of intriguing things, and Qui-Gon was curious.  Mace must have plied Obi-Wan with brandy before the Confirmation.  Obi-Wan’s state of mind was, despite the annoyance, more mellow than Qui-Gon had expected. 

However, he had his own duties this evening, and Padawans to feed.  “No, Rillian.  I think he’ll be at it for some time, yet.  We’ll make sure to leave a plate for him, but I don’t think Obi-Wan will be back until after lights out.”

Anakin, meanwhile, was staring up in consternation at the comm embedded in the wall.  “What in the Force is _that_ doing there?”

 

*          *          *          *

 

The Padawans were abed, Qui-Gon was reading, and it was approaching midnight.  Despite the late hour, Obi-Wan was still wrapped up in Council shenanigans. 

 _Sweet Force, they must have opened the proverbial floodgates,_ he thought, letting the words drift towards his pairbonds with Tahl and Micah.  Tahl was, of course, wide awake.

 _They still have him in their Council clutches?_   Tahl seemed irritated.  _What are they trying to make him do, run for the hills?_

 _Quite likely_ , he replied, putting down his databook and closing his eyes, resting his head on the back of the couch.  _We do have four Councilors who are not in the mood for changes, after all.  If they think exhausting Obi-Wan will get him to quit—_

 _Then they haven’t been paying attention,_ Tahl finished, smug amusement filtering through the bond.  _I don’t think Eeth, Depa, Saesee, and Master Rancisis have realized what kind of vornskr nest they’ve stumbled into._

 _Indeed,_ he thought, and then yawned.  He was fighting to stay awake; the events of the past few days had been more than Qui-Gon had bargained for upon their return to Temple life.

 _Go to bed, genius,_ Tahl told him, a smile in her voice.  _Obi-Wan will be home soon._

 _And what about you?_ Qui-Gon asked, abandoning the couch for the almost perfect darkness of his and Obi-Wan’s bedroom.  Sleep was a welcome concept.  He had the idea that the rest would actually help Obi-Wan, too, forming and sending strength through the bond to keep his mate awake and on his mental feet, no matter what silliness was thrown at him.

 _Mister Kicky, remember?_ Tahl said, frustrated but obviously full of adoration for her developing son.  _I’m fine, and I get enough of that worry from Micah.  Good night, Qui-Gon._

 _Good night,_ he told her, and the link became a neutral path in his mind once more.  Both of his pairbonds were like that, unless he was actively using them.  A Lifebond was blazingly different, by comparison, in that it was always active, always present, and above all, always welcome.

He touched on that thick skein of light, watching it mimic the visual spectrum as it showed off every color from red to violet.  Watching that intricate, shifting dance was almost as lulling as having Obi-Wan in his arms.  He sent one final burst of love down that link, smiling as he received the same in return from his mate, and was asleep in moments.

It was light beginning to filter in from the main room that woke him, and with that came the realization that Obi-Wan still hadn’t made it to bed.  Qui-Gon frowned, but found Obi-Wan in the next moment.  His steady presence in the Lifebond marked a deep, dreamless sleep, and the sense of him was close enough that he had to be in their quarters.

Qui-Gon wrapped himself in his robe and went out searching, and found Obi-Wan in short order.  His mate was asleep on the couch, his head resting on the couch arm.  His left arm had fallen, leaving Obi-Wan’s hand to brush the carpet with every soft exhalation.  A stylus lay on the carpet next to Obi-Wan’s fingers, and one of the young Master’s leather-bound paper journals was open and face down on Obi-Wan’s chest.

Qui-Gon called the stylus to him with the Force, putting it on the smaller table, and then stealthily plucked the journal from his mate’s chest.  Obi-Wan twitched in his sleep, brow furrowing before he relaxed once more.  Qui-Gon smiled at the sight, filled with a tenderness that surprised him.  He brushed his hands through Obi-Wan’s hair, which hung in limp, damp strands against Obi-Wan’s forehead.  It was far too warm in their quarters to be sleeping fully clothed, but it seemed that the couch was as far as Obi-Wan managed to get before exhaustion struck.

Still smiling, he perused the latest journal entry while readying a pot of tea for the morning rush.

_By the Force.  First Council meeting this time was actually worse than my last first Council meeting!  I didn’t think that was possible._

_Qui-Gon owes me fifty credits.  Depa got testy, wanting to know how I could be ready for Confirmation so quickly, and I had a flare of temper.  Vows were spoken backwards.  Whole thing.  Backwards.  Made Master Eeth laugh, and it certainly lightened the air in that chamber._

_Depa didn’t laugh.  Didn’t even smile.  I’m worried about her.  Mace is, too.  But Force, what the hell can we do?_

_Well, that’s one thing.  I remember, now—Depa’s chosen mate leaves her sometime next year.  They never Lifebonded, but it’s still a hell of a thing to lose someone you love.  I wonder if her irritability is the beginning of that?  I didn’t hear of them fighting, but according to Adi, Depa has been quieter, more withdrawn, since Jil-Hyra’s death.  That sort of loss certainly can’t be helping.  They were friends, good friends, and to find that the Sith has corrupted one of your own...  It’s fucking harsh.  I should know._

_I’ll have to tell Mace, and Adi.  Adi and Depa have been pairbonded since Adi found Depa on Search.  If anyone can help her through this mess, Adi can.  Maybe Depa and Linena will actually stay together, given some early intervention.  Or maybe the separation will be less messy.  I don’t know.  I can’t fix everything, but fuck it, if Yoda can meddle, so can I._

_I think the little green troll is filled with glee.  He dropped a bomb on the Council by bringing up the matter of allowing older students—funny, considering we can’t even get multiple students accepted.  In fact, he didn’t ask, he declared that he would be taking Queen Amidala as Padawan, once the latter was done with her tenure as ruler of Naboo._

_He could have stirred them up less by firing a real rocket inside the Council Chamber—SCREW THIS, SLEEP NOW_

 

Qui-Gon chuckled at the black ink smear that blurred the end of the last word.  “Well.  Can’t wait to hear about the rest of it,” he murmured, placing the book on the table next to the stylus. 

He caught Anakin before the boy could perform his usual deadweight shuffle to the ‘fresher, motioning to the sleeping form on the couch.  Anakin grinned.  _What did they do, keep him until dawn?_

_I don’t know.  But in deference, practice your stealth._

_Will do,_ Anakin said, and disappeared into the ‘fresher to pour himself into the shower.  _Master Windu wants to review my progress in the_ vapaad _with me this morning.  When he wakes up, will you tell my Master?_

 _Double-check that Mace hasn’t rescheduled, given that he was up just as late,_ Qui-Gon told him, and received a brief acknowledgement from the boy.

Rillian padded out into the common room on delicate feet, already trying to be as quiet as possible.  _He didn’t get in until fourth hour,_ she said, after giving her Master a morning hug.  _Are they trying to kill him?_

 _Not intentionally,_ Qui-Gon said, filling a glass with cold water and handing it to his Padawan as she rummaged among their paltry amount of pantry goods for breakfast.  _But Council meetings always tend to run long, which is why the Council doesn’t have full meetings more than twice a week, unless the situation calls for it.  Given the circumstances, he’s lucky it didn’t run until lunchtime today._  

Granted, the Council had maintained an irritating habit of greeting them with a full complement when he and Obi-Wan had returned from certain missions.  He knew it was their way of keeping an eye on Obi-Wan, and his unique situation, but the constant oversight had still rankled.

Rillian shuddered.  _Then I never want to sit on the Council, ever!_ she declared.  _If asked, I will do so, but I will also do my best to avoid it._

 _Indeed,_ he agreed.  He’d been practicing the same sort of avoidance for a good twenty years now.  _Sparring this afternoon, Padawan?_

The Wookiee’s expression lit up.  _Oh, yes, Master!  Lunch, first?_

He wasn’t about to keep the growing girl away from food.  _Of course.  Our perishables order should finally arrive sometime this morning, so there will be food here._

 _No more commissary retrievals?  You and Master Obi-Wan will be happy,_ Rillian teased.  He smiled back; she wasn’t anywhere near as picky, but the commissary was also better at providing for non-human needs than it was for human. 

“Graargh, what _time_ is it?” came a sleepy growl from the couch, and Rillian muffled a laugh at the petulant sound of it.

“Eighth hour, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon replied.

“Fffff—evil sunlight.  Ger’off, cat.  Teaaaa.”

Qui-Gon and Rillian exchanged smiles.  “Go back to bed, fool.”

Obi-Wan disobeyed that notion, and within moments came stumbling into the kitchen, heading right for the sink.  “Can’t.  Master Koth wants to speak to me in a half-hour, and we all have an appointment this afternoon,” Obi-Wan said, turning on the tap and then ducking his head under the water.

Rillian gave her other Master a puzzled look.  “We do?”

Obi-Wan used his hands to wipe water from his hair and face, and when he stood up and faced them, he looked far more alert, if wet.  “Yes.  Sorry, short notice and all.  After lunch, we’re all having a meeting with Terza.”

[Oh,] the girl said, visibly deflating.  [I mean, good, but…sparring?]

Obi-Wan blinked a few times.  “Sparring?  That is an excellent idea.  After this meeting I’ll chase all of you around the salle, gladly.”

Qui-Gon took pity on her and wrapped his arms around his Padawan, who seemed torn between relief and worry.  “We’ll still get our time in.  I promise.”

Rillian nodded, reassured.  [Yes, Master.]

 _Sparring?_ Anakin chimed in, catching the gist of the conversation through multiple bonds.  _Twice in one day?  Are you trying to break me, Master?_

“He’s supposed to be meeting Mace this morning,” Qui-Gon explained, when Obi-Wan looked baffled.

“Oh.”  _Well, if two sparring sessions in one day is enough to break you, you must be out of shape._

Qui-Gon chuckled as Anakin broadcast blatant “strategic retreat.”  “He’ll learn again, one day.”

“Which is one of the things we’re going to wind up talking about,” Obi-Wan said with a cryptic frown.  He went to the teapot, poured a cup, and groaned in delight at the dark, viscous liquid that emerged.  “I _love_ you,” he told Qui-Gon fervently.

They separated for the day, with confirmed plans to meet in the afternoon.  Anakin still had his _vapaad_ review with Mace; he departed in loose training togs with his jaw set, obviously expecting a brutal, demanding session.  Obi-Wan slugged back another cup of the tea Qui-Gon had brewed, cleaned up enough to be presentable, and went to see Eeth Koth.  Rillian stayed with Qui-Gon for the morning, both of them going through her classes on a datapad and setting up assessment testing on all of her required coursework.

[What if I test out of all of them?] she asked, eyes tracking the long list with intent eyes.  [Am I done with schooling?]

“We’re never done learning,” he told her, smiling at the soft chuff of annoyance that Rillian emitted at the thought of more classwork.  “But no.  You’re still young, Padawan.  Even if you test out of every course the Temple requires of you, I’d still want you to take other classes.  Explore different subjects, or take advanced versions of what you otherwise might not have seen.  Find your strengths.  You may have learned a lot from what Obi-Wan showed you, but not all of his talents are yours, just as not all of yours are his.”

She rumbled thoughtfully in response, eyes flickering over the list again.  [Yes, Master.  Though to be honest, I doubt I’ll test out of everything.  And that’s a good thing, right?  It means I’ll still go to some classes with other Padawans my age.]

He ruffled her mane, which was quickly growing out of the short cut she kept it in.  Time for another trim.  “Exactly so.  I’ll get the appointments made, and bully my way through your instructors, if need be.  When the testing is done, we’ll see how you did, and find our way from there.”

[That sounds very nice,] she admitted, reaching up to play with her braid.  She always kept the two emerald beads at the end, so they were visible if she looked down.  Qui-Gon had added a violet stone bead to mark their anniversary.  Her braid would never grow long enough to hold more than that, but given the turmoil that had marked their first year, he thought the second stone a proper gift.  [Can I ask you something, Master?]

“Always,” he said, putting the datapad aside.

She huffed out a breath, shuffling her feet.  He smiled, knowing it was going to be an entertaining process to break her of those tells, especially if Rillian was to follow him into diplomatic situations.  [You get really…worried, if something happens that you think will interfere with my training.  I don’t understand why.  We have plenty of time, right?]  She gave him a soulful look.  [Or is there some time limit for apprenticeships that I don’t know about?]

“Have I been smothering you, Rillian?” he asked, bemused and concerned.  His attempts to make up for lost time had been misread, it seemed.

[No!] she barked out the refusal.  [You haven’t.  I like the attention, I do!  It’s just that I’m in no rush to be a Jedi Knight, so even if we have to give up time to injuries and Sith, I don’t mind.]

His latest Padawan was an intriguing blend of utter impatience in some matters, yet possessed almost passionate levels of patience in others.  “Most Padawans have the opposite point of view, and can’t wait to be Knighted.”

[Most Padawans are _idiots_ ,] Rillian declared with her typical blunt honesty.  [I would rather take my time and be assured that I’m not going to screw this up.]

“You have a unique point of view, Raallandirr,” he told her softly, and she ducked her head, pleased by the compliment.  “Though it would be wise to refrain from calling your fellow apprentices idiots.  Let me show you something.”

The box was on a wall-mounted shelf, the same color as the wood it rested on and therefore almost invisible.  Qui-Gon brushed his hand across the lid of the plain, unadorned container, knowing it must have been Micah or Tahl who would have made sure it was easy to find.  Pleased with the new quarters or not, he would have been hard-pressed not to lose his temper if the box had gone missing.  It held one of the only things he had not thrown away after cleaning out his quarters in a mad fit of grief, years ago, when he’d returned to the Temple after Crion, Xanatos, and Thani’s rebellion.

He rejoined Rillian, sitting down on the couch next to her and handing her the box.  She tilted her head, hooting softly as she explored it with her hands.  [May I?]

“Of course,” Qui-Gon assured her, and Rillian slid the box open.  Inside lay a small coil of dark auburn, barely fifteen centimeters long, marked by only three beads.  The other item was a necklace, an artful creation that held not beads, but small crystals.  Multiple strands of black leather wrapped each tiny piece in a tight, secure weave.

Rillian held it up, cooing at the shimmering dance each crystal did as it caught the light.  [Master Kimal’s,] she guessed. 

“Arconans don’t have hair of any sort, but Kimal insisted that he wanted some denotation of his Padawan status.  He was so proud of what he had accomplished,” Qui-Gon explained, taking the necklace from Rillian, letting his fingers explore the leather weave and the bits of crystal.  It was still as familiar to his hands now as it had been thirty years ago.  “When his Master died, and Kimal became my Padawan, I continued the tradition for him, adding a crystal with each year that passed.  I wasn’t expecting to receive this at his Knighting, but Kimal insisted.”  _As did Obi-Wan,_ he thought, smiling at the memory.

Rillian was studying Obi-Wan’s braid, letting it coil in her hand.  [It’s so short.]  The auburn threads caught the light much as Kimal’s crystals did, revealing hints of the pale copper Obi-Wan’s hair would eventually become.  [And there should be three,] she remarked with a sad howl.

“Xanatos cut his own braid and tossed it into the fire,” Qui-Gon said, grateful when the old hurt was just a muted feeling in his chest.  The sight of that long, luxuriant rope of hair vaporizing in the flames was a moment that had also burned itself into his memory.  “Else, I would need a larger box.”

Rillian looked up at him, a most serious expression on her face.  [There _will_ be three,] she intoned.  [I promise.]

“Ah, Padawan,” Qui-Gon whispered, and found himself with an armful of Wookiee.  He hugged her tightly, while she rumbled pleased, soothing nonsense.  “I believe that there will be.”

He traded her Kimal’s necklace for Obi-Wan’s braid, laying it against his fingers as his thumb stroked down the auburn length.  “His braid is short because Obi-Wan didn’t start growing one until after Xanatos died.”

Rillian frowned.  [That was a year after you took him as a Padawan, though.  Why did he wait?]

Qui-Gon sighed, rueful and still regretting that first, harsh year.  “Because I had not given him any reason to believe that he would ever need it.  Within six months together, Obi-Wan handed me his lightsaber and left the Order.  And I did nothing to stop him.”

[What?] Rillian gaped at him.  It was obvious she had never heard the story before.  Obi-Wan would talk of Melida/Daan only if asked, and his friends were kind enough not to bring it up unless there was need.  It wasn’t that Obi-Wan feared speaking of that time, or his decision to leave the Order.  He had come to terms with that long ago.  But there wasn’t a soul who knew Obi-Wan who was not aware that he still carried a horrible amount of guilt over Cerasi’s death.  Not even the fact that Obi-Wan had helped end the planet’s civil war had ever assuaged that grief. 

 _We never forget our first love,_ Qui-Gon thought sadly, even if his Padawan’s feelings for Cerasi of Melida had been platonic.  Sometimes, though, the difference between platonic and romantic entanglements meant nothing, as had been the case for his thirteen-year-old apprentice.

Qui-Gon pulled his current Padawan close, and told Rillian what had gone on that year, from Bandomeer to Telos.  She listened to it all, wide-eyed, and every so often her hand would stray to her braid.  He ended the tale with his and Obi-Wan’s return to the Temple, and the Council’s insistence that the boy’s probation be continued.  That had angered him so much that, in private, he’d gotten into a shouting match with Mace.  _You either want me to take an apprentice, or you don’t!  Make up your fucking mind!_

 _Of course I want you to teach Obi-Wan, you damned fool!_ Mace had shouted back.  _I just want_ him _to believe it, too!_

That had silenced him; he’d known full well that the other Master was right.  If there were censures for idiocy, that year Qui-Gon would have earned them all.

[So that’s why you get, er, paranoid?  About my training?] Rillian asked, giving him a careful, searching look. 

“I suppose so,” Qui-Gon admitted.  “I don’t have the best record with Padawans, Rillian.”

His newest Padawan snuggled in close, smiling up at him.  [Then it’s a good thing Obi-Wan trained you up properly for me,] she said.  And as far as Rillian was concerned, that was the final thing that needed to be said on the matter.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Rillian helped him put away the perishables order when it arrived at twelfth hour.  Anakin arrived fifteen minutes later, looking beaten up and exhilarated.

“I managed the fifth kata of the vapaad!” he said, grinning victoriously.  “I was awful at it, but I did the whole thing through without falling down once.”  He skipped off to shower, once again much more like an eleven-year-old boy than a Knight.  Qui-Gon frowned, thinking of what Obi-Wan had mentioned that morning.

Both Padawans helped him cook, and they were in the process of setting the table when Obi-Wan swooped into the kitchen, seized Qui-Gon about the waist, and proceeded to kiss him soundly.  As appreciation for culinary activities went, it ranked somewhere up around extraordinary.

“Good meeting, then?” he asked, when Obi-Wan broke the kiss and looked up at him with his eyes dancing.  Qui-Gon’s mate was far more alert than when he’d tossed himself off of the couch that morning.

“Excellent meeting; you owe me money,” Obi-Wan said, grinning.

“I seem to be a bit low on coin.  Can I pay with other means?” Qui-Gon asked, tracing the curve of Obi-Wan’s ear with his fingertips and eliciting a purr from his mate.

“You need to stop gambling with insufficient funds.  I think we can negotiate terms, though,” Obi-Wan replied, pupils swiftly dilating.  Force, but to think he could take Obi-Wan apart from so simple a touch!

 _Only you can do that to me,_ Obi-Wan sent, a warm, sultry smile curling his lips.  _No one else._

“Hey, guys!” Anakin called, looking up at them both with his hands on his hips.  “Food now, flirting later!”

[Or at least flirt while you make sure we’re fed,] Rillian added.

“What did Master Koth want to talk about?” Anakin asked, once most of the meal had disappeared.  With two Masters who tended to skimp on breakfast, and two voracious, growing Padawans, it hadn’t taken long.

“A lot of things, but the primary subject was Luke Skywalker,” Obi-Wan answered, stirring a spoonful of honey into a cup of steaming red tea.  “Eeth wanted to know if I would have apprenticed Luke if the Sith, the Empire, and the Purges had never happened.”

“What did you say?” Qui-Gon asked, noticing that Anakin was staring at his Master with tense, set shoulders. 

“I told him that of course I wouldn’t have,” Obi-Wan said, taking a sip of tea before reaching across the table, offering Anakin his hand.  Anakin gave him a shaky grin and took the reassurance that was offered.  “It’s all right, Anakin.  I know better, and I am _not_ going to let anyone dismiss what he accomplished.  As I told Eeth Koth, if none of that mess had happened, I wouldn’t have known that taking Luke as a student was the right thing to do.  If his victory over a pair of Sith isn’t enough to convince Master Koth that age is, ultimately, meaningless, then I’m not sure what will.”

[How did he take that answer?] Rillian wanted to know, having received the diplomatic version of the ideas currently being discussed by the High Council.

“Not badly,” Obi-Wan said, after thinking for a moment.  “Eeth seems inclined to accept the inevitability of older students, and did say he doesn’t want to fight Master Yoda over Padmé’s apprenticeship.”

“I hate to say it, but Luke Skywalker’s example would work better on some of the more stubborn holdouts if he was someone _present_ ,” Qui-Gon said.

“Things are confusing enough,” the boy murmured, uncomfortable with the notion.  “Can you imagine the mess _that_ would be?”

“In the meantime,” Obi-Wan continued, giving Anakin’s hand a reassuring squeeze, “it’s the possibility of a Master teaching more than one student that still bothers Master Koth, and many others.”

“I’m not surprised,” Qui-Gon said, rising to fetch his own tea.  “It’s been ingrained in our consciousness that student groups are a dangerous thing, and lead to Darkness.  It’s easier to overturn the age requirement, because we’re still dealing with a single Master/Padawan pairing.”

Anakin sighed.  “That’s _stupid_.  We know that Jedi were training apprentices in groups for at least four thousand years before the last Sith War happened.  Why did the Order let just that one conflict change us so much?”

“Well, we know the Sith were manipulating us on several fronts,” Obi-Wan reminded them, mouth twisting with distaste.  “By prophecy, certainly.  By inciting fear with reminders of those who Fell during the war?  Quite possibly.  And we have no idea how long that dark veil was in place over Coruscant.  That could even predate Sidious.”

“Sith, Sith, Sith, Sith, _Sith_ ,” Anakin grumbled.  “Are our entire lives going to revolve around the damned Sith?”

[I really hope not,] Rillian growled, frowning.  [I’d hate to think that I have three hundred years or more of Sith warring to look forward to.]

“No.” Obi-Wan looked at each of them in turn, steel glinting in his eyes.  “We _will_ deal with Sidious.  We will stop him, I swear.”

Rillian made a soft noise in the back of her throat, as if feeling the need to break the tension Obi-Wan’s declaration caused.  [Perhaps one of our cultural allies should find an adult to train to Knighthood?  Another successful older student might help to break that mindset.]

“That’s a very good idea, Rillian,” Qui-Gon said, blowing across the lid of his mug to cool its contents before taking a meditative sip. 

“I already have four training bonds, and they don’t seem to be bothering me,” Obi-Wan said with a wry smile.

[Four?] Rillian asked, puzzled.

“My bond with Master Yoda was never dissolved,” Obi-Wan explained.  “When Anakin and I found ourselves back in this time again, the bond was still present.  That little phenomenon fascinated Master Yoda, and is part of the argument he used for my early Knighting, and as proof of the validity of mine and Anakin’s experience.  Thus, that means I am linked to an ancient troll, the two of you, and Jeila Vin.  Once you add in the Lifebond and pairbond, you’d think it would be rather crowded inside my head.”

Anakin raised an eyebrow.  “Does it feel that way?  Crowded, I mean?”

“No,” Obi-Wan said, peaceful contentment settling across his features.  “It’s actually quite nice.”

Qui-Gon did a mental tally and realized, with a jolt of surprise, that he had as much and more.  “Damn,” he blurted aloud.  “Three training bonds, two pairbonds, and a Lifebond.”  That didn’t even count Jeila Vin, who would probably make her own space in his thoughts soon enough.  “I hadn’t given much thought to how very crowded my own head is.”

“What about Master Kimal?” Anakin wanted to know.

Qui-Gon smiled.  “Kimal keeps his mind much to himself, and our connection faded within a few years of his Knighting.”

“Now imagine how many bonds Master Yoda must have,” Obi-Wan said to Rillian, who was wide-eyed with astonishment.  “If anyone tries to argue that our minds aren’t built for more than one bond at a time, we can certainly shut down that discussion in a hurry.”

[Who’s the third training bond with?] Rillian wanted to know.  [Not Master Dooku?]

“No,” Qui-Gon said, and then winced at the curt sound of his own voice.  Perhaps another meditation on Dooku’s defection, and his own feelings about the man, was in order.  “My bond with Dooku was never very strong, and was dissolved the moment my braid was cut.  My other training bond is with Master Yoda, who did an effective job of keeping me sane and grounded during an otherwise disastrous apprenticeship.”  Unlike his formal training bond, his connection to Yoda refused to fade. 

“Geeze,” Anakin said, shaking his head.  “Yoda must have bond-threads coming out of his ears!”

The door chime sounded as they were cleaning up.  Rillian went to answer it and howled with delight as she announced Master Healer Jale Terza.  The two of them had struck up a comfortable friendship on Naboo; Qui-Gon suspected that Terza would have tried to claim the Wookiee for an apprentice if Rillian hadn’t already possessed a Master. 

“Are we ready, then?” Terza asked, glancing around the new quarters with an approving smile.

“I suppose, though we have yet to be informed as to the purpose behind your visit,” Qui-Gon said.  He held out a steaming mug of tea, having learned through numerous visits to the Ward that caffeine was a swift way into the Master Healer’s good graces.

“Oh, gods bless you,” Terza said gratefully, sounding much like Obi-Wan had that morning.  “I have three sick Initiates and a lack of available apprentices.”

“No replacement for Bella yet, then?” Obi-Wan asked, bringing in a chair from the kitchen to give them enough seating in the main room.  He turned it around and sat down, resting his arms across the chair back.  Anakin and Rillian took the hint, settling down on the couch, ready to find out what was going on.  Qui-Gon joined them a moment later with more tea; he couldn’t quite shake a tired miasma that had been dogging him since that morning, and suspected Obi-Wan was the one that needed to be drinking the damn tea, instead.

_Whoops._

_Next time, you can be_ my _battery,_ Qui-Gon replied, while Obi-Wan shot him an amused, apologetic smile.

“No.  No one has quite caught my eye,” Terza admitted.  “It could be years before I see another student.  Congratulations about Jeila, by the way.  The entire creche is buzzing about the Hero and the Initiate.”

“Sounds like a bad book title,” Obi-Wan muttered.

“Quite,” Terza agreed, before turning her attention to Anakin.  “Padawan Skywalker, I am here at your Master’s request.  The first thing you need to know is that I am now your primary Healer.”

“O-kayyyy,” Anakin said, frowning.  “I wasn’t aware that I needed one.  I’m used to getting shuffled around to whatever Healer is available at the time.”

“Well, things are a bit different now,” Terza said, giving Anakin a warm smile.  “And aside from our shared experiences, working with the Padawans is actually my specialty.  The only reason I held your Master’s case for so long was due to the early age of his Knighting, and the unique challenge of dealing with a Knight who was, quite literally, not yet finished growing.  That is now the exact circumstance you will face.  You have the memory and skills of an adult, but the body of a near-pubescent child.” 

“Don’t I know it,” Anakin grumbled, and Rillian chuckled.

Terza leaned forward in her chair, pinning Anakin with a serious, stern glare.  “Both of your Masters and several of your peers have remarked that you seem quite mature for your age at some times, and quite young at others.  This was noted even before you gained back your memories of that other time, Padawan Skywalker.  And there is a reason for that.”  She paused a moment, ascertaining that she had Anakin’s undivided attention.  “You have not only the body of a child, but the _brain_ of a child, Anakin.  That means that despite your adult memories, your body chemistry is still hard-wired to respond as a child does to emotional and sensory input.  At times, your memories will override that, but generally speaking, you’re still only eleven Standard.”

Terza glanced at Obi-Wan and inclined her head; Obi-Wan nodded and took up the explanation, while Anakin glanced back and forth at them with a faint line of confusion between his eyes.  “For all intents and purposes, you should be a senior Padawan.  Terza and I have discussed it, and I can’t treat you like one because you literally can’t yet _behave_ as one, no matter what our preferences in the matter may be.  It makes your situation even harder than Rillian’s or Padawan Secura’s.  Rillian doesn’t have to worry about this until she’s at least thirty Standard, and Aayla, at least, has already been through puberty.”

Anakin’s brow furrowed, and then he blanched.  “Oh, Sith!  You’re saying puberty is going to be even more of a nightmare than it was before?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Terza confirmed, smiling at the expression on Anakin’s face.  “You will be fully aware of what is going on with your body, but control of your emotional responses and reactions will still be nigh impossible.  The positive outcome will be that you will be able to gain Senior Padawan status once the early, chaotic bit of it is over.  Granted, you will still be one of the youngest Senior Padawans in the history of the Order.” 

“Better that than eleven-year-old Knight,” Anakin retorted.  “I’ll take that instead, thanks.”

“This will _not_ be easy,” Obi-Wan warned him.  “You will be taking advanced classes; you will have an increased number of responsibilities because of your new position as a Council Padawan; your body chemistry will try to sabotage your efforts every step of the way.  The next few years are going to be very, very hard—harder than, I suspect, either of us planned for.”

Anakin blew out a disgusted breath.  “Yeah, well.  I didn’t really expect it to be easy, either.  But I can do this, Master.”

“I know you can,” Obi-Wan smiled, and Qui-Gon and Rillian both sent their own encouragement through the bonds.  By the time they were done, Anakin looked much better, though there was still a faint line of concern between his eyes.

“Which, again, is why you will have me as your primary Healer,” Terza resumed her explanation.  “You will need to make sure you get the amount of sleep needed for your age level, no matter your workload or stressors.  You can’t forget to eat, or neglect your health in any way, even if you remember being able to treat your body harshly.  Remember that you’re eleven, not twenty-seven.  I don’t mean that I won’t consider the experience you have, or discount your opinion, but it is vital that you do as I instruct during the next five years.  This is a critical time of human growth, and I imagine you’ll want to reach your twentieth year in good health.  This means regular visits to my Ward for physical checkups and vocal interrogations, both of which will help me keep track of your well-being.  It may seem that I mother-hen you, but I monitored your Master in a similar fashion.  I hope you listen to me more than he did,” she said with a pointed glare, while Obi-Wan glanced away and tried his best to look innocent.

 _You know, she used to come to me to demand that you sleep,_ Qui-Gon sent.

 _Well, now you have even more of an arsenal at your disposal to convince me to stay abed,_ Obi-Wan retorted, an undercurrent of imagery accompanying the thought that was pure wickedness.

Anakin was quiet, dwelling over everything he had been told.  Then he smiled, the faint line on his brow clearing.  “That doesn’t sound too bad.  And I happen to like sleep.”

[And food,] Rillian added. 

“Good.  The moment you start having problems with your sleep, come to me.  If there’s half a chance of keeping your rest cycles in better shape than Obi-Wan’s, then we need to take it,” Terza said, giving Anakin another serious look.  “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Anakin replied, nodding.  “I don’t want to be crazy.”

Obi-Wan shook his head.  “Unlike some of us, I suppose.  We’ll go over your class work later, and figure out what we’re going to do about that.  No sense wasting your time on coursework that will leave you bored senseless, since you’ll remember much of it.”

“That’s how we spent the morning,” Qui-Gon said, and Rillian rumbled agreement.  “The assessment exams will be the hardest to schedule, since neither of our Padawans is even remotely close to the age the instructors are used to seeing for testing out of subjects.”

[I don’t think I’ll test out of everything,] Rillian said.  [But sixth-year algebra is already boring me stiff, and it’s only been one class.]

“Smart girl,” Obi-Wan lauded Rillian, smiling.  “Do it the easier way, definitely.  The assessments aren’t that bad, but don’t be surprised if your instructors try to dump extra work on your head to have you prove your efficiency.  However, please don’t follow my example and try to do all of it in less than two days.”

“Anakin, this is a prime example of that whole “not sleeping” thing I just mentioned,” Terza said, reaching out and swatting Obi-Wan’s shoulder.  “How you managed to attain your current size without serious repercussions to your health is beyond me.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes went too-bright as he exchanged a glance with Qui-Gon; Qui-Gon decided he was not going to let either of them enlighten the Healer on their earlier theory.  “Thank you, Terza.  I know that among the four of us, we can maintain each other’s health and sanity.”

“Good.  You’re all much better at it as a group than as individuals,” Terza agreed with a sour expression. “You’re horrible at it on your own.  Anakin, I’ll send a schedule to your inbox—your first year will mean appointments every month.  This is even more dire territory than I was in with your Master, and I mean to keep you under close watch until I’m sure none of us will stumble.”

Anakin looked as if he wanted to protest, but then changed his mind.  “Yes, Healer Terza.”

“Are we settled?” Obi-Wan asked, noticing that Rillian was getting twitchy.  “I think we’re due for a sparring match in a reserved salle.”

“We’re done, unless anyone has questions?”  She glanced around, pleased when there were none.  “Anakin, if that changes, you can comm me at any time—that information will be included with your schedule.  Obi-Wan, you’re with Abella until further notice, as rehabilitation is _her_ specialty.”

Qui-Gon was surprised by a flash of anger, quickly quelled.  _I didn’t think you were still upset with Abella._

 _I’m not, not really._   “Terza, you and Bella can stop beating around the bush and admit it.  I’ll _always_ be under someone with a rehab specialty.”

Terza seemed disinclined to agree.  “There’s no way of knowing for certain—”

“Bullshit,” Obi-Wan said, glaring at her.  “Bella said it herself, Jale.  I’m a head injury patient, even if the injury is metaphysical instead of physical.  There’s always going to be the chance of something going wrong.”

“Yes, and I thought the same thing when you came to me at fourteen with your head bashed in,” Terza retorted.  “You outgrew the need even for simple monitoring from that; the same could happen this time.  Abella might be paranoid, but allow her to be paranoid for both of you.  If you let that worry consume you, you may as well let her retract medical clearance and sit here on your ass.”

Qui-Gon thought about the list of responsibilities that seemed to be piling up and shook his head.  “Little chance of that.”

“I’ve heard.  Congratulations,” Terza said, shaking her head when Obi-Wan muttered something obscene under his breath.  “Go spar.  Work off some frustration with a lightsaber and stop bitching at me.”

“Sorry, Jale,” Obi-Wan said after a moment.  “You’re right.  It’s been too long.  Who wants to get their ass kicked?” he announced to the room at large.

[I…don’t?] Rillian hedged.  [I rather think I’ll be trying to win.]

“Indeed,” Qui-Gon agreed.  “Master and Padawan versus Padawan and Master?” he asked, issuing the challenge to his lifemate in casual terms.

“Losers?” Obi-Wan asked, eyes glinting in response.

“Make dinner.”

“Awesome.  I’m so not cooking tonight,” Anakin said, and Rillian growled her own challenge at her fellow Padawan.

The advantage of a private salle was that their observers were limited to the number of Padawans who could cram their noses against the viewport in the door.  Obi-Wan and Anakin trounced Qui-Gon and Rillian during the first match; Qui-Gon countered with a best, two out of three offer.  Rillian seemed to take the thrashing as a personal challenge and used the _Jar Kai_ to its full advantage, allowing them to win the next two rounds and get Qui-Gon out of preparing dinner.  He was better at it, yes, but by the Force, he didn’t like cooking that much!

Obi-Wan did, and Anakin had no complaints about helping or washing up.  Dinner passed mostly without conversation, as Obi-Wan was running on too little sleep, too much caffeine, and endorphins.  He and Anakin finished the evening by setting up Anakin’s assessment tests, with Qui-Gon’s occasional input.  Qui-Gon spent a few minutes trimming Rillian’s hair back to the Padawan length she preferred, which earned him another Wookiee hug.

All told, the four of them pretty much fell into bed without prompting from anyone but Teya, who wanted to sleep on Obi-Wan’s head.  Qui-Gon drifted off to very loud, pleased purring, and wasn’t sure if it was from the cat or his lifemate, who was wrapped securely in Qui-Gon’s arms.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The way of the Force is not set in stone, no matter how much some might wish it to be so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lag between updates -- everyone had a summer crisis or job or alien invasions.

“Madame Nu, I assure you, I don’t break holocrons,” Obi-Wan said for what had to be the fifth or fiftieth time that morning.  _Don’t make me pull rank,_ he thought, desperate not to have to resort to his new Council position to get what he wanted.  He’d come to the Library first thing, skipping breakfast, on a dream-driven whim of an idea.  Expecting resistance was a matter of course if Jocasta Nu was on duty instead of Yaddle or Tahl (who largely wasn’t, thanks to her pregnancy) but he hadn’t expected this level of noncooperation.

“Knight Kenobi, handling of the older holocrons is considered a risk at best, due to their extreme age,” Madame Nu replied, doing her best to look down at him despite the fact that he was taller.  He was used to her dislike; the older female Librarian tended not to like anyone but her own few surviving agemates.  Today was different in a way that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.  “Therefore, it is generally granted that only senior Masters are allowed access to the ancient holocrons in our collection.”

“I am aware of that, Madame Nu,” he said, glad that today he was well-rested and thus not subject to fighting his temper.  “But as I said, I am looking for a specific holocron in our collection, and the newer holocrons do _not_ have the information I seek.”

“You won’t know until you conduct your research properly, young man,” she sniffed.

 _You have no idea,_ Obi-Wan thought darkly.  “As I have been pursuing this line of research for a year now, I assure you that I _do_ have a properly established background,” he said, lifting his chin.  _Fuck it.  Charm hasn’t worked.  Logic isn’t working.  Time for brute force._ “I have a busy morning ahead of me, Madame Nu.  Now: I am going into the second vault, and I will be accessing Master Odan-Urr’s holocron.  I ask your courtesy in showing me into the vaults.  If you don’t, I will go in anyway, as I already have the codes.  But Madame Nu, I am _trying to be polite._ ”

She narrowed her eyes.  _Success!_ he crowed inwardly, as she turned her back to him and began striding quickly in the direction of the vaults, not bothering to wait and see if Obi-Wan was keeping step with her.

 _Bythe_ gods _,_ Qui-Gon grumbled a moment later.  _Are you up and wreaking havoc at an obscenely early hour again?_

 _Go back to bed,_ Obi-Wan replied, a soppy smile replacing the frown he’d given Jocasta Nu.  _I’ll tell you later._

 _You’d better._   Qui-Gon was asleep again in the next breath, which gave Obi-Wan a guilty twinge; his mate had put in a lot of effort, keeping Obi-Wan sane for the past few days.  Hell, for the past _year_.

If it weren’t for her decorum and desire not to damage anything in the Jedi Archives, Obi-Wan suspected that Jocasta Nu would be hammering the code into the inset panel for Vault Two.  She led him inside, letting the door shut on pneumatic hinges before leading the way down the corridor.  On each side of the aisle were rows and rows of locked drawers, with an occasional open junction that allowed access to workrooms, all of which were interconnected with the other vaults.  The air was not just chilled but cold, and there wasn’t enough humidity in the air to let his breath fog at his lips. 

Jocasta Nu stopped and faced the left side of the vault aisle, only three rows short of the back wall.  She pressed her thumb against the drawer five down from the top, then entered a code that she refused to let him see.  Stupid, considering he knew the Council override codes that would let him into every container in the vault, but the senior Librarian was not giving him a centimeter more than she had been forced to concede.

The drawer rolled out on controlled rails, revealing a single, green-tinged crystal holocron nestled on a shock-absorbent cushion.  Odan-Urr’s holocron had only simple glyphs carved on each side of the pyramid; all together, the glyphs represented the Jedi Code.  More and more, it was a Code that Obi-Wan had trouble reconciling with what he knew of the Force.  “There is no emotion, there is peace,” he murmured, running his fingertip along the complex glyph line as he read the words.

Madame Nu sniffed again.  “I suppose you’ll want to see the Sith holocron he guarded, as well.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.  “That’s quite an assumption, Madame Nu.  Not only do I have no use for a Sith holocron, the ones in the Temple Archive collection are fakes.”

“So I was informed.”  She glowered at him.  “Absolute nonsense.  We have had those Sith relics in our collection for a millennium.  They are not fakes.”

 _Ah,_ he thought, saddened.  Obi-Wan had known there were would be Jedi in the Order who would refuse to believe the things he had revealed to the Council, or the Council’s word as to the truth of those matters.  It just seemed odd to realize that it was a Jedi Librarian who held such an inflexible point of view. 

Then again, Jocasta had also refused to believe the Archive could have been tampered with, then _or_ now.  Tahl had found at least three instances of deleted entries so far.  Jocasta Nu had barely deigned to acknowledge that fact.

“Thank you, Madame Nu.  That will be all,” he said, and stared back at the Librarian when Jocasta’s glare intensified.

“I will remain here,” she said firmly.  “You have no experience with the Jedi holocrons, and will require tutelage.”

There was no way in hell he was going to work with Jocasta Nu hanging over his shoulder.  “That will be all,” he repeated, narrowing his eyes.  “I require privacy for my research.”  He paused, sensing that she didn’t intend to budge.  So much for that idea.  “Councilor’s privilege, Madame Nu,” he said, voice soft.

Jocasta Nu’s eyes widened; she hadn’t expected him to play that card.  “Of course, Knight Kenobi,” she said, inclining her head in deference, though her words grated like metal over ice.  “Let me know if you need anything further.”

When the vault doors shut after her departure, Obi-Wan blew out a long breath and leaned against the storage stacks for a long moment.  While Councilor rights were convenient, he hated to use them, and he’d just lost any chance of making an ally of Jocasta Nu.

 _Was there ever a chance? Really?_ he asked himself, and couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer.

There were no work tables in Vault Two, and he didn’t want to go back to one of the junction rooms.  He doubted he would be interrupted for several hours, though, especially with Librarian Nu now in a foul mood.  He pitied any student who needed her help that morning.

Obi-Wan took the holocron from its drawer with careful fingers and sat down on the floor, back propped up against the opposite stack of drawers, holocron resting in his hand.  “Hello, little Time Traveler,” he murmured to the crystal.  “We’re quite alike in that respect, though you’re far older than I am.”  He could feel the immense age of the holocron, like a thrumming in his bones. 

Obi-Wan regarded it a moment longer before touching the sigils in the correct order, activating the crystal matrix.  The holocron opened, the walls of the pyramid blooming like a flower.  The emitter inside projected a small hologram barely a hand high.  The green-washed image resolved into the form of an elderly Draethos. 

“Greetings, Jedi Master,” Odan-Urr’s holocron intoned.  Static jumped through the hologram, and the ancient Master’s voice was filled with tight bursts of tinny, discordant squeals.  Old, indeed, and possibly deteriorating past true usefulness.  Not an auspicious start.  The Tedryn Holocron worked flawlessly, but Odan-Urr was a mere gatekeeper on the other holocron.  This was the holocron the ancient Master had imprinted himself upon.  “What knowledge do you seek?”

“Greetings, Odan-Urr,” Obi-Wan replied.  Even programmed entities were more forthcoming if you were polite to them.  “I am looking for a friend of yours, Master Ood Bnar.”

“Ah,” the Draethos said, and seemed to be amused.  “Have you tried his holocron?  I am given to understand it is only several drawers away from my own.”

“No,” Obi-Wan shook his head, fighting a smile.  “I mean the real Master Ood Bnar, not his holocron.”

“Ah,” Master Urr said again.  He tilted his head, as if mimicking curiosity.  “My internal chrono might have deteriorated with the passage of time, but I am certain he must be one with the Force by now.  It has been a very long time, even if he was a Neti.”

“I was given very specific information that he has not,” Obi-Wan said, settling more comfortably against the cold tile and chilled metal drawers.  “Conventional means of finding him have failed, and if he is in a hibernation trance, the nature of his species precludes the ability to find him in the Force.  I was hoping that, given your lifelong friendship, you might be able to give me a clue as to his whereabouts.”

“If Master Bnar is to be found anywhere, he will be found in the Library,” the Draethos said promptly.

“Yes, well.  Ossus is no longer home to the library because of the Cataclysm,” Obi-Wan said, biting back a sigh of frustration. 

“Ah.  Yes.  True enough.  But young Master, that is all I know to tell you.  If Master Bnar is to be found, he will be found in the Library.”

The hologram shifted; Odan-Urr copied Obi-Wan’s pose and settled himself in a cross-legged position.  “I am only a metaphysical imprint of Odan-Urr, but I sense that you have something that belonged to me.”

Obi-Wan lifted his head in surprise.  “Yes.  An archeological team found the remains of one of your lightsabers buried in the ruins of the Library on Ossus.  Our resident crystal fiend gifted the crystals to me.”

“Yes, that would be why.  Talkative crystals, always talking.  It was almost a relief to retire that blade,” Odan-Urr said, a faint smile on his face.

“Why was your lightsaber stored in the Library?” Obi-Wan asked, curious.

“Everyone was in such a hurry to upgrade to power cell lightsabers,” the old Master said, shaking his head.  “When I was a young Knight, they ran off of battery packs.  Not much reach if your blade is attached to a cable attached to a battery pack.  No fancy tricks with throwing your lightsaber around, not then.  But the power cell technology became small enough, powerful enough, that we didn’t need battery packs anymore.  A power cell every six months was all a Jedi needed.  Five hundred years after this innovation, the historians realized we had almost no examples remaining of the old battery-pack lightsabers.  I was happy to donate my old blade to the cause of preserving that part of our history.”  He laughed.  “The younglings didn’t know how good they had it.”

Obi-Wan had a faint memory of seeing an illustrated example of a battery-and-cable lightsaber in a long-ago history class.  “I do believe we might be spoiled.  Now our power cells last at least fifteen years, even with heavy use.”

“That’s all?” Master Urr said, surprising Obi-Wan yet again.  “How strange.  I would think, given the rate of advancing technology during my time, that your power cells would last far longer.  Hmm.”  The holographic image closed his eyes.  “Sith again, is it?  Somehow, I am not surprised.  The last time someone accessed my holocron, a Sith war was brewing.”

The last time?  “Master Odan-Urr, that was a thousand years ago,” Obi-Wan said, momentarily horrified.  No one had touched this holocron in all that time?  No wonder the matrix had degraded!  He made a note to speak to Tahl; as one of the senior Librarians in the Temple, she needed to know about the lack of care, the potential loss of information.

“Was it?  A pity.”  The Master sighed.  “Thank goodness I am an imprint and not a true spirit, or that would have been a very boring time.  Have you ever been to Ossus, young Master?”

Obi-Wan shook his head.  “No.  I’ve never been.”

“You should go.  The Library is a fine, wonderful place.  My own collection would be quite useful to you.”

This time he did sigh; the degradation was worse than he’d thought.  “Master Odan-Urr, the Cataclysm destroyed the Library on Ossus.”

“Did it?  Oh, dear.  I think some of my data is corrupted.”  The Master chuckled.  “It is not a surprise, given that I composed this holocron during my sixth century.  I hope the energy cell powering the matrix can be repaired.”

“I am hopeful that it can be; the deterioration isn’t that bad, yet.”  Obi-Wan hesitated.  He wanted to ask the next question, but Odan-Urr was well-known for his views on the Force.  “Master Odan-Urr, I was once told the Code of the Sith by a Sith holocron almost as ancient as yours.  It is much like a mirror to the Jedi Code that you created.  Given certain things I have learned and witnessed, I have come to wonder if the views on the Force you espoused might have given the Sith a means of leverage against the Jedi.”

“It is the way of the Sith to try to twist the way of the Force, to tempt Jedi into their ranks,” the hologram said flatly.  “My attempts at simplifying the Code were meant to combat the lure of the Dark Side.”

 _Simplifying?_ “What was the code when you were young, then?”  Obi-Wan asked, trying not to frown.  “I know that the Code the Order knows today was formalized sometime after the Great Sith War, but I wasn’t aware that anything pre-dated it.”

Odan-Urr got up from his seated position, shifting in place as if he were restless.  Odd behavior for a hologram, even a Jedi hologram.  “The Code I was taught as a young man is very, very old, so old that we have no memory of its creation.”  He seemed to hesitate.  “As a young Knight, I fought in the very first war against the Sith, when they emerged from unknown systems bent on conquering the Republic.  As we defended Empress Teta against the Sith incursion, I found myself facing off against my fellow Jedi, as well.  They had been consumed by Darkness, and I wondered at how they had fallen so far, so quickly.  I came to believe that the Jedi needed a stronger tenant to follow than the old Code.  It was said many times that I was wrong, but it seems my words still hold sway while those long ago voices are silenced.”  Urr shook his head.  “To be fair to myself, I did not compose my interpretation of the Code with the intent that it be the only voice for the Jedi to listen to.  It was meant to be a helpful tool, a treatise.”  The hologram paused, static freezing the image before it resumed.  “This is the Code as it was known for thousands of years:

 

_Emotion, yet peace._

_Ignorance, yet knowledge._

_Passion, yet serenity._

_Chaos, yet harmony._

_Death, yet the Force.”_

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.  “And it’s yours that is considered the simplified version?” he asked, unable to keep the amusement from his voice.

“The irony is not lost on me, young Master,” Odan-Urr’s hologram grumbled.  “The Code was open to much interpretation.  My vision of the Code was meant to help Jedi who were uncertain as to what the Force demanded of them.  A harsher treatise, to be sure, but it would have been a building block for those having trouble mastering their thoughts and feelings.”

“And what was once a stepping stone became the only stone,” Obi-Wan said softly.  He had once told Anakin (screamed it, really) that only a Sith dealt in absolutes.  Yet the Order had been, and still was, just as guilty of such inflexibility.  “Once upon a time, I would have agreed with our current version of the Code wholeheartedly.  But I can’t do that any longer.”

“Why?” Odan-Urr asked, tilting his head again in curiosity.

“I understand the intent of what you did,” Obi-Wan said, composing his answer with care.  Blasphemy seemed to be his watchword in the past five years, and this was a conversation that he didn’t even think Master Yoda was ready for.  “But the version of the Code that you wrote…I have seen it used as an excuse for stricter interpretations, rigid rules, and ever-tightening controls, to the point that it has brought the Jedi Order to stagnation.  We’re literally in danger of extinction, Master Odan-Urr.  What do we do, then, when we have a Code that has served its purpose, but no longer?  How does the Order let go of something that has defined them for over four thousand years?”

The image seemed to sigh.  “I have no answers for you, young Master.  You ask questions that would have been difficult to confront even in my time.  If these are genuinely truths that need to be said, then you will have to be the voice that speaks them.  Even if your fellows turn away, ears covered.”

“I don’t want to be that voice,” Obi-Wan whispered, feeling his stomach tighten.  _Not fair,_ he thought, but that was a ridiculous notion.  There was no such thing as fair.  He’d known that for a long, long time.

“Then you are a wise man,” Odan-Urr replied, nodding.  “The voice of change tends to be the voice of a martyr.  You will have to trust in the Force, young Master, and it will lead you to the right path.  Perhaps not the path you wish for, but the one that is needed, nonetheless.  My power cells are running low,” the hologram explained as it began to lose form.  “I must shut down for maintenance.  Thank you for speaking to me, young Master.  I hope you find my friend.”

“Thank you for your time, Master,” Obi-Wan replied, watching as the holocron sealed itself once more. 

 

*          *          *          *

 

Obi-Wan was sitting in Yoda’s private garden, lost in thought and shredding a blade of grass with his fingers, when the ancient Master found him.  The hoverchair came to a halt with a faint hiss of fired repulsorlifts.  Yoda gazed down at him with a curious look on his face that didn’t fool Obi-Wan one bit.  The old troll knew full well why he was here.

“Good morning, Master,” he said, while Yoda shut down the hoverchair, letting the small craft sink to the ground.

“Good morning, not-Padawan,” Yoda replied.  “Get me out of this thing you will, hmm?”

Obi-Wan nodded, lifting the tiny Master out of the chair and settling him to the ground.  Yoda sighed and wiggled his clawed toes in the grass, pleased to be freed from his hated, if necessary, hoverchair confinement. 

“A bad day in the bones department?” Obi-Wan asked, plucking another blade of grass and beginning the slow process of tearing it to bits

“When eight hundred years old you are, work as well, some parts do not,” Yoda agreed, sighing again as he sat down on the ground, resting his gimer stick across his lap.  “A certain Master told me: a flashback you had, yes?”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes.  “Qui-Gon Jinn is a tattletale.”

Yoda chuckled.  “Yes.  He is, yes.  But first of its kind, this flashback is.  Expected more, your Healers did.  Happen sooner rather than later, it was thought.  Tell me about it you will, hmm?”

He did so, while the blade of grass got shorter.  After two long meditation sessions, the memory wasn’t as harsh as it had been that first night, though the remembered sensation of that fiery pain wouldn’t fade.  It had always hurt, when Sidious had healed his wound, and the feeling from the flashback wasn’t fading quickly enough from his consciousness for his comfort.

Yoda eyed the shredded bits of grass.  “Bothers you, it does?  Greenery, punishment it needs not.”

Obi-Wan blinked and looked at his green-tinged fingertips.  “Ah.  I was actually thinking about other things when I started doing that.”

“Meditation beads you should acquire.  Trimmer of my grass, I need not,” Yoda said, smiling.  “Tell me, Obi-Wan: should I grant the last request of the Reconciliation Council?  Return to fieldwork you wish to, hmm?”

Obi-Wan laced his hands together to keep from shredding any more grass.  Yoda would resort to gimer-swatting, otherwise.  “Honestly?  I wanted to know what you thought first, Master.” 

Yoda’s eyes widened for a moment, as if surprised.  “A question for a question, then, Obi-Wan.  How feel you about the Council?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, giving Yoda a self-deprecating smile.  “That perhaps I need to look into Knight Muln’s assertions that I’m a masochist.  I don’t want to do this, and yet…I think I would have been equally foolish _not_ to have taken Master Yarael up on his offer.”

“Understand that, I do,” Yoda said, running his hand along the smooth wood of his gimer stick.  “Know, you do, that like my position on the Council, I do _not_.  Needed there, we both are, but allow it to consume us, we should not.”

Obi-Wan nodded his agreement; perhaps they were both doing a better job of mitigating some of that harsh responsibility, this time.  Yoda had practically seized the title of Creche Master with both hands, as if daring someone to try to talk him out of the position Jil-Hyra’s death had left vacant.  He seemed happier for it, and the younglings enjoyed having more of the old troll’s attention.

And Obi-Wan—well, Obi-Wan had a tattletale.

_Am not._

_Are too._

_What about the droid?_ Qui-Gon replied, droll and warm, and that response deserved a gimer-swatting if Obi-Wan had _ever_ heard one.

_I’ve been hit by that stick so many times that my shins are immune.  You’ll have to seek your vengeance in other ways, Ben._

_Go away and let me pay attention to my soul healer before he starts hitting_ me.

Obi-Wan turned his focus back to Yoda, who had his eyes closed, maintaining a light meditative trance.  The pale threads of their shared training bond echoed it, giving him faint glimpses of Yoda’s gentle communing with the Force. 

Returning from Yinchorr, under orders from the Head of the Order to find a damn Soul Healer and try to be a little bit less of a nervous wreck, Obi-Wan had scoured the Temple registry of available Healers.  He’d wound up frustrated when no names jumped out at him—despite what Mace Windu thought, Obi-Wan knew he needed someone who would be discreet, no matter what he, she, or it was told.  In frustration, he’d brought a short list of names to Yoda, and discovered that the ancient Master had long ago taken all of the necessary classes and internships to be qualified as both a physical Healer and a Soul Healer.  The inscrutable being didn’t maintain active status on the lists; thus, not even Jale Terza, one of the nominal heads of the Temple Healers’ Ward, knew of Yoda’s abilities.  Problem solved.

“The anger you carry—meditated on that, you have, yes?” Yoda asked, ending his meditation as quickly as he had entered it.

Obi-Wan rubbed his sternum with his fingers.  It always felt like there was a tangled, dense knot in his chest, physical manifestation of years of negative emotions that the block had once dealt with.  Now it was something he was meditating away, bit by bit.  The last of it, the core of that knot, stubbornly remained.  “I have, Master.  Often.  It doesn’t seem to want to go.”

“Mmm.  Part of your answer, that is,” Yoda said, nodding gravely.

“I—you think that flashback won’t be the only one,” Obi-Wan said, and felt a flutter of dread in his innards, the threat of a cold sweat on his skin.  That flashback of dark memory had been one of the least pleasant experiences of his life.  He hadn’t been looking forward to more.  “There are other things I don’t remember, and that’s why I haven’t been able to free myself of that old anger.”

“Believe that, I do.  Sense the truth of my words, you do, or fear you would not be feeling.” 

Obi-Wan ducked his head, chagrined, and reached for the Force.  It was there in the next moment, calming and bright, and it was suddenly easier to breathe.

“Keep you penned up in the Temple, foolish that would be,” Yoda continued, reaching over to give Obi-Wan’s knee a sympathetic pat.  “Serve no purpose, it would.  But throw you out into the field, we should not.  Slowly, we will go.  Council duties, you will adjust to.  Padawan, you have, to guide through a new way of learning.  Meditate on your memories we will, also, and find new things, we will.  Flashbacks you wish to avoid, yes?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed.  “That sounds fine, Master.  I don’t want to be caught that way again, if possible.”

“Happen anyway, it may,” Yoda said, looking troubled.  “Works normally, your brain does not.”

“So I’ve gathered,” Obi-Wan acknowledged, smiling.  “Often, and with great regret.”

“Hard-headed you are.  Works in our favor, that does,” Yoda grumbled, but Obi-Wan could tell that he was amused.  “Thinking hard on something, you were.  Tell me, you will?” he asked, a hint of pleading in his eyes.  If Yoda had any sort of failing, it was his love of secrets.

Obi-Wan hesitated, but there was no reason to hide the entirety of his purpose in speaking to Odan-Urr’s holocron.  “I’ve been told it would be prudent to pay a visit to Ossus.”

“Ossus?”  Yoda raised an ear, tilting his head.  “Ossus.  Hmm.  Soon, you will?”

“Not for at least a month,” Obi-Wan admitted.  “I feel it should be sooner rather than later, but there are things that need to be done here, first.  And at least I will be in little danger of being shot at.”

“Bring war to Ossus, and forgive you, the archeologists will not,” Yoda pointed out, chuckling.  “To Ossus you will go, yes.  A good idea, this is.  See more of our past, you should.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Meditation wasn’t supposed to be an exercise in frustration, but that afternoon, it certainly was.  Qui-Gon knew there was a frown on his face, but he was focused on other things.  It really, truly felt like he was just on the brink of crossing whatever line it was that kept him from seeing the Force the way Obi-Wan could—and yet, months later, he couldn’t even _see_ the line.

 _You keep trying that way, and you’ll just wind up with another headache,_ Obi-Wan said, twining his gentle way into Qui-Gon’s thoughts.  The bond allowed them to cross into each other’s meditations like the passing of breath.  Obi-Wan could use that gift to show Qui-Gon what was needed, step by step, guiding him the entire way, but he was stubborn, and he was a Jedi Master.  If he couldn’t figure this out himself, then it was time to hand in his lightsaber.

 _See?  Stress will_ not _lead you onto the right path,_ Obi-Wan whispered, the words accompanied by the gentle touch of fingertips between his eyes.  _Stop thinking so hard._

Qui-Gon blew out a long breath, attempting to do as he’d been asked.  _What am I still doing wrong?_

Obi-Wan’s warm weight settled against Qui-Gon’s back, the sharp nudge of his chin resting against Qui-Gon’s shoulder.  _You have dwelled in the Living Force for a long, long time, my love.  You are as stubborn in your way as those who spend all of their efforts upon the Unifying Force.  You must unlearn that inclination; you must allow your senses to perceive all of the Force._

The lesson was not new, but it seemed he still had not been able to grasp it.  _Perhaps I will never be able to, then._

_I think you will.  In fact, I know you will.  I believe your difficulty lies in the fact that you’re starting out trying to jump from the cliff rather than taking the bridge.  And really, you’d think after seeing my gods-awful example, that you wouldn’t do that._

Qui-Gon smiled, breathing in the scent of Obi-Wan, accompanied by the summery tang of cut greenery.  Yoda had comm’d earlier, grumbling about the state of his grass.  _What would you suggest, then?_

Obi-Wan was silent for a few moments, allowing them to drift together in the meditation, which that had become a shared one.  With Obi-Wan’s presence wrapped in his own, their bodies pressed close, it was as intimate as sex.

 _It’s certainly quieter,_ Obi-Wan teased.  _Start with the stepping stones, Qui.  Allow yourself to look at the future._

He knew he had to be frowning again.  _That has never been my strength._

_Only because you don’t want it to be.  Awareness of the future does not sacrifice awareness of the moment, love.  Let go of that old fear._

Qui-Gon paused; he could sense Obi-Wan waiting with infinite patience, letting him come to his own conclusions.  Was it a fear, and not a preference, as he’d always thought?

He’d seen Mace as a child, shell-shocked and suffering because of the shatterpoints he couldn’t stop seeing.  He’d seen Master Yoda frowning over what he could see in the future, and each meditation on it seemed to bring more lines to Yoda’s already careworn face.  Even Obi-Wan, still a young Padawan, had developed a finer awareness of the eddies of the future, and Qui-Gon, seeing the signs of what was to come, had fretted endlessly over the talent he knew would find Obi-Wan.  Full-blown precognition was not shatterpoint reading, but it was not a kindness, either.

_You fretted over me?_

_Of course I did,_ Qui-Gon replied, aware that Obi-Wan had taken his hand.  _I don’t believe I’ve stopped._

 _Nor I for you,_ Obi-Wan said, a smile in his voice.  _You’re stalling._

That he was.  He rarely sought out the future, though he didn’t fight it when the Force decided that he _must_ see something.  Qui-Gon turned his thoughts in that direction, breathing out the tension that wanted to tighten his large frame.

 _You’re automatically trying to look for something big,_ Obi-Wan said, and the grip on his hand became a caress.  _Don’t.  You know this lesson; just let it flow.  The Force is a current that shifts in the light.  Don’t try to find the source of the current.  Just look for the shifts…_

Which was, quite possibly, the best explanation for it that Qui-Gon had ever heard.  With one more deep breath, he allowed his senses to drift into the plays of light over the flow…

_Sparks rained down from broken equipment, striking the floor and sliding before guttering out.  There was a hiss of leaking air, the blare of alarms, shouted instructions as the ship’s crew tried to compete with the noise._

_“Life support is failing.  You need to evacuate the ship.”_

_His own voice, hard.  “Not until you fire that shot, or I’ll toss you out of the airlock myself.”_

He came back to himself with a start, jolted from both vision and meditation, surrounded by the rampant, uncontrolled greenery of the Wilderness Garden once more. 

“Ow, ow, ow, you can let go any time now,” Obi-Wan was saying, which made Qui-Gon realize he’d clenched both hands into fists, and one of his fists was crushing Obi-Wan’s fingers.

“Sorry,” he said, releasing Obi-Wan’s hand.  His joints were stiff, as if he’d kept his hands fisted that way for a long period of time. 

“No more than a few seconds, had to be,” Obi-Wan said, resting his face against Qui-Gon’s shoulder blade.  “That was interesting.”

“I suppose,” Qui-Gon allowed, rubbing his knuckles, but the stiffness was already fading.  The sensation was probably connected to the vision, and not to any physical thing he had done.  “I’ve never threatened to throw anyone out of an airlock before.”

“Must have been a really annoying guy.” 

“Perhaps.”  Obi-Wan didn’t seem bothered by the vision.  Then again, Obi-Wan had far more practice at this sort of thing.

“I’m not worried because if it were to happen, it’s years from now,” Obi-Wan said, easing his way around until he was sitting in Qui-Gon’s lap, a crooked smile on his face and a warm light in his eyes.  “You were much older.”  He took Qui-Gon’s hands in his own, running his thumbs along Qui-Gon’s knuckles.  “I know that pain.  You’ve only just started feeling arthritic onset in the past two years.  That level of pain is at least a decade away, if not longer, _if_ you pay attention to the damn healers.”

“Always in motion,” Qui-Gon stated part of Yoda’s maxim, trying to shake the unsettled feeling he had been left with.  “My age aside, it seemed to be the middle of a battle.”

Obi-Wan nodded, unsurprised.  “Love, I will be shocked if we get through the next five years without a war of some sort erupting.”

“What do you mean?”  Qui-Gon couldn’t recall that viewpoint coming up before.  He thought, if anything, that they were working to prevent such a thing from happening.

“Oh, damned right we’re going to try to keep it from happening,” Obi-Wan returned immediately, the warm light becoming determined fire.  “But I doubt Sidious woke up six years ago and decided to rely solely on his plans for the Naboo invasion to get him what he wanted.  He’s had time to set up other scenarios, and he wants revenge, Qui.  One way or another, he’s going to try to make sure he has it.  We’re just lucky to have found out about Zan Arbor.  I have no doubt that far worse things are lying in wait out there.”

“Now then,” Obi-Wan shifted in Qui-Gon’s lap, an intentional wriggle that gave Qui-Gon ideas that were utterly unrelated to meditation.  “Homework time.  I want you to do that every day.  I want you to get used to communing with that part of the Force, until it feels less foreign and more like instinct.  The eventual goal is to re-wire your brain to stop seeing aspects of the Force and to look at the entire thing.”

“Yes, Master,” Qui-Gon rumbled, amused by the slight blush that stained Obi-Wan’s cheeks at his answer.  “And what homework were you given by yon ancient green troll?”

“I’m to meditate on my time amongst the Sith, the better to uncover any further memories and hopefully prevent further flashbacks,” Obi-Wan answered without a trace of his earlier mirth.

“Ah,” Qui-Gon said, realizing he was chilled by the very idea.  “I like my assignment better.”

“Me, too.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Rillian and Anakin returned within five minutes of each other, both of them looking drained from the first round of assessment tests.  Anakin went into his room, came out with a mouse droid to work on, and then promptly forgot to tinker and hugged it instead.  Rillian lay down on the carpet behind the couch, staring up at the ceiling with a forlorn expression.

“Did it go well?” Qui-Gon asked, while Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at his Padawan’s mouse-droid repose.

[I’m going to be taking Core World history until I’m _old_ ,] Rillian groaned.

Qui-Gon chuckled at his Padawan’s dramatics.  “Not old.  But possibly middle-aged,” he teased, which made Rillian groan again.  “How did the rest of it go?”

[Not bad,] she admitted after a moment.  [Mathematics and algebra were easy.  I don’t think I tested out of any of the language requirements except Basic and my own, but I’m not great at those, anyway.  Tomorrow is astrophysics, that stupid poetry requirement, and the first assessment for coding.  Master Obi-Wan, can I have one of your poems to give to Master Kita-Tai?]

“No, and Master Kita-Tai would figure it out, anyway.  That man can sniff out an author with a single line,” Obi-Wan said, sitting down on the carpet next to Anakin.  “And how did you do, Ani?”

“I remembered everything,” Anakin said, his eyes downcast.  “I maybe got two or three wrong on each assessment.  And that freaks me out, Master.”

“It doesn’t make you a freak this time any more than it made you a freak last time,” Obi-Wan said softly.  “Besides, this will give you an advantage you wouldn’t have had, otherwise.”

Anakin finally lifted his head, giving his Master a curious look.  “Advantage?”

“If you test out of everything, you can take classes that interest you.  It will make it easier to keep up with your studies during the next few years if you actually _want_ to study the subject at hand.”

Anakin brightened.  “Hey—yeah.  You’re right.  Master Vrenx won’t be able to chase me out of his classes any more.  I’ll be taking hyperdrive theory and the practicals!”

“And the entire Temple shudders in fear,” Obi-Wan drawled, which left Anakin stuttering a protest while Rillian laughed.

“Temporal physics was on the list today for both of you,” Qui-Gon noted, scrolling through his datapad as he refamiliarized himself with what the Padawans had taken.  “How did you do?”

Anakin shrugged.  “After all of this crap, Master Qui-Gon?  I almost laughed my way through the entire test.”

[Yeah.  It was…entertaining.  “Cite an example of temporal physics in an instance you might feel has an affect on your own life.”]

“Did you have enough time to finish writing _that_ essay?” Obi-Wan asked, grinning.

“I wrote, ‘My Master is a walking paradox.  Does that count?’” Anakin said, looking far too pleased with himself.  “Master Kovin might make me re-take that portion of the assessment, but it’ll be worth it just for the expression on his face.”

“If you get Master Kovin and Master Haffar arguing theoretical physics for a week solid again because of that answer, I refuse to take the blame,” Obi-Wan replied.  “Master Reynaar was worried he was going to have to break up a brawl, last time.”

[A Wookiee versus a Bothan and a Bimm.  I think I’d pay to see that,] Rillian mused.

“No, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said, though in truth, he was just as curious. 

“Once the assessments, the Senate Confirmation, and the technology conferences are done, how does a field trip sound?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Already?  You think they’ll let us leave the Temple when we’ve only been back for a week?” Anakin grinned.

“Yoda decided it was a brilliant idea, so I don’t think we’ll see much resistance,” Obi-Wan replied.  “And I’ve never been to Ossus.”

[Ossus? Really?] Rillian barked in excitement.

“Do you have a crush on desert planets or something?” Anakin looked unenthused.

“Having been to Ossus years ago, I can tell you with authority that Ossus is nothing like Tatooine,” Qui-Gon said, smiling at the expression on Anakin’s face.  “Dusty, though.”

“Okay, so it’s a less desert-y desert,” Anakin sighed.  “Why Ossus?”

“I visited the vaults in the Archive today, and had a talk with Odan-Urr’s holocron.  He was unable to give me any solid advice on Ood Bnar’s potential location,” Obi-Wan said, answering the question that had already appeared in both Rillian’s and Anakin’s eyes.  “But he suggested that a visit to Ossus should at least be done.  If anything, that’s Ood Bnar’s last known location before the Cataclysm happened.  It’s also a new starting point, because I have officially chased down the last possible clue on Coruscant regarding our infamous Neti Hunt.  Unless anyone has any other ideas?” Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin pursed his lips, as if pausing to consider an idea, before speaking.  “Well, there’s always Mortis.”

“Mortis?” Qui-Gon repeated, puzzled.  It wasn’t a planet name he was familiar with.

“What’s Mortis?” Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin stopped fiddling with the mouse droid in his lap and stared up at his Master.  “What do you mean, “What’s Mortis?”  You’ve been there!”

Obi-Wan frowned.  “I don’t remember any place called Mortis.  Are you sure?”

[How about we start with, ‘What is it?’] Rillian cut in as Anakin’s jaw fell open in surprise.  [Then we’ll worry about the rest.]

“Er—yeah, okay,” Anakin said, his brow furrowing.  “Mortis is…a…kind of a wellspring of the Force,” he said, and then covered his face with his hands in frustration.  “You were better at describing it than I was, Master Qui-Gon,” he muttered.

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.  “I’ve never heard of it either, Anakin.”

“Right.  Yeah.  It was after you were…uhm…deceased,” Anakin said, wincing and shrugging all in one movement.  “What’s everyone calling it again?  Right—this was during The Event.  It was the only time I ever saw you, back then.  I’d always heard you before.”

[All right: wellspring of the Force, prone to Force-ghosts,] Rillian summarized, trying to be practical even though she looked bewildered.  [What else?]

Anakin thought for a moment and then launched into the tale of his, Obi-Wan’s, and Ahsoka Tano’s unexpected visit to the strange planet, starting with the two-thousand year old distress code that the Order had received.  The beings who’d called themselves Father, Daughter, and Son were fascinating to hear about, a phenomenon Qui-Gon had never heard of in all his research.  After seeing multiple visions and being heavily influenced by each of the beings, the three Jedi had wound up back out in space, in their shuttle, with no sign of the planet or its monolith-like entrance anywhere to be found.

Obi-Wan was shaking his head, baffled.  “I don’t understand.  Why can’t I remember this?”

Anakin snorted.  “Master, considering how many times you got bashed in the head the first two years of the war, it’s a wonder you still knew your own name.”

“That’s true enough,” Obi-Wan admitted, smiling.  “This seems a bit beyond that, though.  And it’s an odd gap to have, considering the rest of my memory problems all centered around Sidious.”

“Maybe,” Anakin mused.  “I mean, we never really talked about Mortis again, beyond those first few minutes after we found ourselves back on the shuttle.  Maybe you never remembered?” he hedged.  “Ahsoka never brought it up, either.  I just figured that, considering what happened, it was something no one wanted to talk about.”

“You’re thinking that if we go to this place, its strength in the Force will enable us to locate Ood Bnar?” Qui-Gon asked, thinking he understood Anakin’s reason for mentioning Mortis.

Anakin nodded.  “Well, it makes sense.  People who couldn’t normally see Force-ghosts at the time, like Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, had no trouble there.  If Mortis is strong enough for that, then we’d at least have a much better chance at sensing Ood Bnar through the Force.”

“That hinges on one thing,” Obi-Wan said, holding up one finger.  “Can we even find this place?”

“Uh...”  Anakin frowned.  “Maybe.  I think I can remember the coordinates—wait.  Hold on,” he said, getting to his feet and disappearing into his room, coming out a moment later with a salvaged control keypad and his datapad.

Obi-Wan watched, amused, as Anakin sat down with the keypad on his lap, resting his right hand over the numerics.  The datapad was on the floor in reach of his left hand.  “Watch this,” Obi-Wan murmured to Qui-Gon and Rillian.

Anakin closed his eyes, letting his hand idly touch the keys without pressing.  The Force’s presence in the room intensified for a moment, and then the young Padawan was tapping out a long series of coordinates at high-speed with his right hand, and entering the coordinates into the datapad with the left.  “Got it,” he announced.  “The original ones, anyway,” Anakin said, opening his eyes. 

“Nicely done, Ani,” Qui-Gon said, and Rillian seconded him.

“Yeah, I suppose,” Anakin said, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.  “I mean, there was nothing left the last time.  It might not even be there.”

“Now that’s keeping an optimistic mindset,” Obi-Wan said, rolling his eyes as he took the datapad to study the coordinate string.  “It might try to eat us, too.”

“Yeahhhh.”  Anakin made a face.  “Don’t go and give Mortis ideas, okay?”

“I’ll talk to Yoda, and let him know that we have two different field trips in mind, now.”  Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, taking a moment to consult the Force.  “We’ll try Mortis first.  If that place can truly give us some answers, Ossus may have to wait.”

[Do you think it will?] Rillian asked, glancing back and forth at both her Masters as Anakin recorded the planet’s coordinates.

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan said after a moment, his eyes focused not on the opposite wall of their quarters, but at something far more distant.  “If I try to look in that direction, all I can see is an endless field of stars.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All life is politics. All of it.

He’d never conducted a secretarial interview; had not, in fact, ever needed a secretary before.  Most of the superficial datawork had already been delegated to others long before Master Obi-Wan Kenobi had been invited to join the Council, in that long ago other-when, and the job had been military-based due to the war effort.  This was not then, though, and there was a lot of Temple minutiae tied up in the permanent Council seat that Yarael Poof had surrendered to him. 

Thus, a secretary was a necessity, likely to be a godsend.  He had spent the entire morning interviewing senior Padawans and new Knights who, for some insane reason that Obi-Wan couldn’t fathom, actually wanted the job. 

Most of the Councilors he now worked with had at least one secretary.  Mace Windu, as Head of the Order, had four.

He would be happy just to find _one._

When Reeft came to the office at noon, Obi-Wan had his head in his hands.  The tea he’d ordered had never showed, and he was contemplating leaping from the top of the nearest Tower in frustration. 

“Well, I’d ask how it was going, but in your case, body language speaks volumes,” Reeft said, sitting down in one of the cleaner chairs available in front of Obi-Wan’s workstation.  A cloud of dust flew up into the air.  Master Poof seemed to have had something against cleaning droids.  The entire office needed to be nuked and rebuilt, but Force, who had the time?  At this rate, Mortis was going to be less a curiosity and more of an escape attempt.

“Want a job?” Obi-Wan asked without moving his hands.

“Oh, Force no,” Reeft retorted.  “I happen to have trained to be a diplomatic envoy.  You need a data-monger.”

“True, but so far I haven’t spoken to one that doesn’t set my teeth on edge.”  He dropped his hands and leaned back in his chair, which squealed in protest.  Yet another item to replace.

“Maybe you’re being too picky?” Reeft suggested, picking up a data-disk from the bookshelf and blowing dust off of it.  “Or maybe it’s this office.  For someone as fastidious as Master Yarael, this place is a trash bin.  You should set it afire and start over.”

“I did have a similar thought,” Obi-Wan said, smiling.  “As to being picky?”  He blew out a long sigh, releasing most of his frustration and tension with it.  “Master Yarael’s secretary agreed to meet with me, but made it very clear that he wished to continue working for Yarael, and wanted little or nothing to do with me.  The others were all senior Padawans with some very overblown cases of hero worship.”

Reeft put down the disk, wiping his hand off on his trousers.  “Hero worship is supposed to have its uses.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t do me any good if they’re too distracted by the worship to do their damn jobs,” Obi-Wan grumbled.  “Or if they’re too busy picturing me naked.  The last two were miserable at shielding.”

Reeft laughed.  “And you can’t torture young Anakin with the job until he’s a senior.  You seem to be trapped between a rock and a hard place, my friend.”

Obi-Wan shook his head.  “I’m sure a solution will present itself.  It may just have to wait.  In the meantime, if no one hears from me in a few days, it’s because I’ve been buried in an avalanche of reports.”

“And thus you will continue to serve as an inspiration for the rest of us, who are learning quickly that we don’t wish to be Jedi Councilors, after all,” Reeft grinned back.

 _I_ don’t wish to be a Councilor, Obi-Wan thought, but was saved from further reply by the office chime.  “Come in,” he said, standing as he took mental note of his visitor’s identity.

The door slid open, and Senator Bail Organa stepped into the room, flanked by two aides.  “Oh for—Brax, wait outside.  I’m not going to be assassinated in a small, windowless room occupied by two Jedi,” Bail said, and closed the door in their faces, much to Brax’s displeasure.

Reeft let loose a near-silent _meep_ and jumped to his feet, as if his diplomatic training was an electric prod.  “Senator Organa, a pleasure to greet you.”

“And greetings to you, Padawan Reeft.  I’ve been hearing good things about you,” Bail replied, offering his hand to the quickly-composed Dressellian. 

Reeft managed a genuine smile, taking Bail’s hand to return the greeting.  “Someone was being kind.”

“And you, Councilor Kenobi—”

“Oh, don’t _you_ start!” Obi-Wan growled back, shaking his head.  “It’s good to see you, Bail.”

“Likewise,” the junior Senator of Alderaan replied, lifting both arms.  Obi-Wan walked over and accepted the other man’s embrace, and for a moment it was as much greeting as it was nostalgia.  Especially considering…

“Bail.”

“Hmm?”

“Please get your hand off of my ass.”

Bail chuckled and stepped back, a wide smile on his face.  “Forgive me; I am, apparently, incorrigible.”

Reeft was torn between maintaining his diplomatic expression and choking on laughter.  “Ah.  I suppose this explains Garen’s minor sulk after the Yinchorri Accord.”

“Was it that soon after?” Obi-Wan asked, perching on the edge of the desk.  “I hadn’t realized.”

 

_“I hadn’t realized that the hero of the Yinchorri Accord would be the sort to hang out in a seedy bar,” the dark-haired man said.  Clean-shaven, creamed-caff skin, laughing dark eyes, wide smile.  Obi-Wan had looked up, surprised to be flirted with, and was almost shocked sober as he recognized the other man.  Bail Organa, junior Senator of Alderaan.  Someone he knew well, intimately well—had laughed with and loved and grieved with, long ago, in a time that, for Bail, had never happened.  Obi-Wan’s early Knighting had meant that he and Bail had never had the chance to meet.  Until now._

_And he was young.  Oh, so very, very young._

_This wasn’t any way Obi-Wan had ever pictured, meeting Bail Organa again.  Even when the young man had been kidnapped, just as in Obi-Wan’s original timeline, his only involvement had been to direct the other appointed Jedi team in the right direction.  Then, out of stubbornness or idiocy, Obi-Wan had insisted that his role in Bail’s rescue be kept silent.  The opportunity to again meet one of his dearest friends had passed by._

_Instead, here Bail was, on Coruscant, both of them over the age of eighteen…and complete strangers.  It had been three weeks since the Yinchorri funerals.  Most of Obi-Wan’s thoughts had been stuck in a swirled, pathetic miasma of_ I can’t _and_ Not yet _and_ I love him _and_ He will never see! 

_Obi-Wan realized he was staring and blinked hard, trying to righten his senses and his time-sense, with little success.  Thrashed.  He was utterly thrashed._

_Oh, well.  He didn’t need brain matter for propositioning, and self-pity wasn’t anywhere near as fun as the currently available alternative.  Right then, Bail Organa was the only thing he wanted._

_He stood up, returned the other man’s smile, and took Bail Organa’s hand.  It was warm, his skin smooth, just as Obi-Wan remembered.  “Seedy bars have the best alcohol, a fact you must have already discovered for yourself if you’re down here.  Can I buy you a drink?”_

_If anything, Bail’s smile widened a few more parsecs.  “I thought you’d never ask.”_

 

“Minor sulk?” Bail was saying, while Obi-Wan dusted off the other chair and did more harm than good for the three of them, judging by the cloud that rose up into the air.  “I thought that Wookiee-sized man was going to be the end of me.”

“Garen was just being protective, I’m sure,” Reeft said, in defense of his chosen partner.

“Garen was being an _idiot,_ ” Obi-Wan countered, but smiled to take the sting out of his words.  “Besides, he got over it in record time.”

Reeft blushed.  “He did, yes.”

Bail grinned.  “As I said, I’ve heard many good things about you, Padawan Reeft.”

The Dressellian man sighed, dropping his head into his hands.  “I’ll kill him.”

The chime sounded again; Obi-Wan hesitated before answering, hoping he wasn’t about to fit an entire retinue into the small office.  The room was designed for work, not meetings.

_I know you’re in there.  I bring steaming beverages!_

“Oh, bless the Force,” Obi-Wan said, just barely refraining from dragging Bant and her caffeinated burden into the room.  He noted before shutting the door that Bail’s waiting aides had also been plied with tea.  “You’re a brilliant woman.  And you’ve gotten better at sending.”

“I’m well-trained, at the very least,” Bant confirmed with a smile.  “Though, this was Master Qui-Gon’s idea.  He caught me in the commissary and sent me with the tea, saying you were contemplating tower suicide again.”

“Force bless you both, then,” Obi-Wan said, stealing a cup from the tray.  “Padawan Janks is an unreliable source of tea.”

“Padawan Janks needs a foot up the arse,” Bant retorted, and then winced.  “Er, my apologies, Senator Organa.”

“Don’t mind me,” Bail said, ripping the lid off of his tea and taking a sip.  “I am once more a mere casual acquaintance, at least until the meeting begins.  Say whatever you like.  Senator Organa hears nothing.”

Bant smiled.  “I’d forgotten that you like to play the charmer.”

“Force,” Reeft grumbled. “Did everyone meet this man but me?”

“Aalto didn’t.  Neither did Voktja.”

“I, ah…am familiar with Padawan Voktja now,” Bail admitted, looking chagrined.

“I told you not to sleep with her,” Obi-Wan said, relishing the sensation of caffeine hitting his bloodstream like a shot. 

“And thus I learned to listen to my friend’s wisdom.”  Bail smiled.  “I’m sorry I missed the wedding, Obi-Wan.  I did want to go.”

“It’s all right,” Obi-Wan raised his cup in vague salute.  “You already apologized once.  I don’t mind, and you weren’t the only one.  There has been a lot going on in the past year.”

“They wouldn’t have noticed your absence, anyway,” Bant supplied, her eyes tilted in a sly manner.  “They were a bit too preoccupied with—”

“Don’t you dare, Bantling,” Obi-Wan cut in.  He didn’t mind the teasing, himself, but the Mon Calamarian was not yet aware of how deep Bail Organa’s feelings for Obi-Wan Kenobi were.  Another few months in her empathy classes, and she would know, and never forgive herself for such a cruel statement.

Bant waved her hand.  “Touchy crechemate.”

“Besides, the gift I sent should have made certain you knew of my thoughtfulness,” Bail said, looking smug.

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes.  “You’re the one who sent the silk comforter.  Force, Bail.  Head of House or not, I know you don’t have that many small fortunes to throw around!”

“I have more than I like to know about, anyway.”  Bail shrugged.  “Fortunately for me, someone owed me a favor, and that was the result.  Thought you’d like it—and stop giving me that look.  It was my gift, and there will be hurt feelings if you try to give it back to me now.”

“There is no way in hell you’re getting your hands on that blanket,” Obi-Wan said in a mock-growl, which made the others laugh.

“I thought so,” Bail said, putting the tea aside.  “Now let me see the sleeve.  I’ve been dying to get a look at a genuine trade sleeve since Knight Muln let it slip.”

Obi-Wan grinned and pulled up the tunic sleeves covering his left arm, baring the shimmershade tattoo from wrist to elbow.  “Voyeur.  Just because _you’ll_ never get one—”

“Exactly.  I must live vicariously through you,” Bail said, taking Obi-Wan’s arm with gentle hands, examining the designs with his fingertips.  “Gorgeous.  Garen said you had it all done in one evening.”

“I did, yes,” Obi-Wan said, pulling his shirt back down when Bail released his arm.  For all that he had gotten the sleeve done as a declaration of his love, it was still not something he wanted to flash to the world at all times.  He liked the privacy of it, knowing that his vows were written into his skin, hidden by clothes where few would ever see.  So little of his life was private, now, and what little Obi-Wan could keep for himself, he would.

“What’s with this office, anyway?” Bant asked, dust stirred up yet again when she tried to move a stack of ‘plast.  “Why is it so awful in here?  Why haven’t you burned it out yet?”

“Fire does seem to be the preferred method of redecoration,” Reeft noted, sharing a smile with Obi-Wan.

“I’ve been busy trying to figure out _these,_ ” Obi-Wan said, taking in the ‘plast, the disks, and the accumulated detritus.  “Décor is secondary to reports, Bantling.”

“Feh.  I can do this stuff with my eyes closed,” Bant replied, reading over one of the reports in question.

“Can you?” Obi-Wan asked, a flare of hope blossoming in his chest.

“Sure,” Bant was already sorting through the flimsiplast pile in earnest.  “I’m apprenticed to Master Tahl, remember?  I am a data-digger extraordinaire.  This stuff is cake compared to some of the research I’ve done.”

_Did you send Bant on purpose, love?_

_Hmm?  What?_ Qui-Gon sent back, mental tone once again stuffed to the brim with innocence.  _I merely sent you tea, as I prefer you to be in one piece and not splatted onto duracrete._

 _Uh huh,_ Obi-Wan replied, fighting another smile. _Brilliant, love._   “Bant Eerin, how would you like to be a Councilor’s secretary?”

“Huh?” Bant glanced up, distracted from her ‘plast.  “Oh!  Sure, I suppose.  Gets me away from a certain cranky pregnant Master, at least.  Do I get to fix this room, too?”

“That would be an absolute kindness.  In the meantime, you get to attend your first meeting as a Council secretary.  If we leave now, we’ll be just in time.  Come on, Reeft.”

“What?  Me?” Reeft stood up, blinking in surprise.  “Garen just sent me to check on you, I’m not…” his voice trailed off as realization struck.  “I’ll _kill_ him!”

“That’s two death threats in less than ten minutes,” Bail observed.  “He must know you _very_ well.”

Reeft stuttered, blushed, and then chuckled.  “I’m supposed to be a trained diplomat, but if it’s Garen conning me, I fall for it every damn time!”

“That’s because he knows how to distract you,” Obi-Wan said, and maintained an innocent expression when Reeft sent a glare in his direction.  “Shall we?”

Reef sighed.  “Master Binn has been so reticent about my Trials.  I guess now I know why.  Senator,” he said, waving a hand for Bail to precede him.

Obi-Wan stopped Bant just before she could leave the office by resting a hand on her shoulder.  “No pink.”

“No pink,” she repeated, grinning.  “But you have to admit, me giving you that table sure got you to find furniture in a hurry.”

“Wench,” he grumbled, before slinging an arm around her waist.  “This’ll be fun.  More like the old days.”

“They’ll be eating out of our hands in no time at all,” Bant agreed.

*          *          *          *

 

The meeting was not held in the Council Chamber, on account of their guests.  Instead it was in one of the formal Council meeting rooms, the same place where the Yinchorri debriefing had taken place, as it was the only room large enough to hold them all.  Half of the Council was already seated, but abandoned their chairs when Bail entered the room.

“Senator Organa, you’re early,” Mace Windu greeted him, bowing.

“Far better than being late, I’m certain.  Greetings, Master Windu, Master Gallia,” Bail said, returning the bow before moving to greet the other Councilors.

“Welcome, Padawan,” Mace said, as Reeft glanced around the room.  “How do you feel?”

“Doomed, Master Windu,” Reeft admitted.  “Where do I sit?”

“Over there, Reeft.  You’ll be seated next to the Naboo Senator, when he arrives,” Adi Gallia said, directing him over to one of the spaces not yet marked by a file folder.

“Does he know?” Mace asked Obi-Wan in a soft voice.

“He knows that the game is afoot, but doesn’t yet know the nature of it,” Obi-Wan replied, watching as his longtime friend calmed himself enough to greet the others in the room, as Bail was doing.  “I told you Garen would hold his tongue.”

“Wonders will never cease,” Mace replied, a quick smile lighting his expression.  “But he’s not the only one who can keep secrets.”

“What are you—oh,” Obi-Wan managed to bite off the rest of the sentence, turning to face her properly.  “Queen Amidala.  A pleasure to see you again.”

“Master Kenobi, the pleasure is mine,” Padmé answered him, cloaked by the traditional makeup of Naboo royalty, though she had foregone the headdress.  Her gown, on the other hand, was as elaborate as ever, glimmering in a shade of blue that reminded him of something, but Obi-Wan couldn’t quite recall what.

She smiled up at him.  “Keeping my appearance today a secret from you was not easy, especially when one has just been confirmed a Councilor.”

“And yet you’ve managed brilliantly.”  Obi-Wan smiled back and took her hand, keeping an eye toward protocol.  “You must be here for the confirmation of Naboo’s new Senator.”

“Yes, especially given that it has taken almost a full year to get the process complete.  The Chommell Sector has been without representation for longer than any of us would prefer,” Padmé answered, her eyes flashing with suppressed irritation.  “But now it is done.”  She waved forward the man who had been waiting a respectful distance behind her.  “Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, this is Horace Vancil, newly elected and confirmed Senator of Naboo and the Chommell Sector.”

Obi-Wan bowed in greeting.  Vancil was an elder Naboo man, with pristine white hair and a tailored black overcoat that made him appear larger than he actually was.  For all that Naboo tradition dictated political retirement at a young age, Amidala’s court was full of men and women who had continued with their chosen professions.  “Congratulations on your appointment, Senator.”

Vancil smiled and returned the bow.  “Thank you, Councilor.  It’s a genuine delight to meet one of the heroes of Naboo.”

“Well, now you’re in an entire roomful of them, Senator Vancil,” Obi-Wan said.  “Have you met Master Windu, yet?  He and Master Yoda helped to coordinate the Gungan military assault against the Trade Federation army.”

Queen Amidala had moved on to complete her political duties, and Senator Vancil was thus distracted, which gave Obi-Wan the opportunity to actually brief his new Council Secretary on what was about to happen.  Bant nodded at his short summary, retrieving one of her custom datapads from her robe pocket.  “I was wondering how the Kamino thing was going to be dealt with.  I didn’t expect a front row seat for it,” she murmured.

“Plan to be front and center for a lot of things, Bant,” he said.  “It seems many hurdles have been cleared at once.”

“Joy,” she muttered, patting his arm before seeking her seat.  Adi, a master at improvisation for meetings such as these, had already created a place for her next to Brax.  Bail’s aide greeted the Mon Calamarian Padawan cheerfully, his mood much improved by the gift of fresh caffeine.

They were joined by Quinlan Vos and Aayla Secura.  Aayla still tended towards silence in situations like these, but Quinlan already looked as if he wanted to bite something.  One of the others must have already informed him of what his next task was to be; once he had a target, Quin’s patience for meetings was almost nonexistent. 

Obi-Wan sensed him just before a large hand slipped into his, and he grinned without looking at his mate.  “You’re very good at being quiet, when you wish to be.”

Qui-Gon’s voice was pitched low, meant only for his ears, and it seemed like the deep rumble of it sank into his bones.  “Is that a challenge, Master Kenobi?”

“Oh, I hope so,” he whispered back, moving off to seek his own chair before Qui-Gon had him distracted into nigh uselessness.

The representative for the Abrion sector, Esu Rotsino, joined them a moment later.  Her escort, a blue Twi’lek Knight, settled in with an air of quiet professionalism.

 _I’ll be damned,_ Qui-Gon said, dipping his head in greeting when the Twi’lek smiled at him.  _I haven’t seen Orykan Tamarik since Tahl Knighted her._

Esu Rotsino gave a short, blunt greeting to the group at large before allowing Adi to direct her to a seat.  The elderly human woman had been present in the Senate for so long that she had grown to despise overly long introductions, especially among people she already knew.  The behavior was favorably tolerated from Senator Rotsino where it wouldn’t have been from a junior. 

Obi-Wan watched her out of the corner of his eye while hiding a smile.  Rotsino’s customary behavior during Zan Arbor’s original trial had been a welcome balm every time he’d needed to take the stand.  She had always been short and to the point, whereas others had tended to drone on and on.  It hadn’t been his first time in the courts, but it was still one of the worst stints he’d ever seen.  Force, if there was one thing he didn’t want to repeat…

_Love, there are far better things to be dwelling on._

Obi-Wan gave a slight nod of acquiescence, fighting back a sigh as he moved to take his seat.  _Other things, then.  I was also thinking that Senator Rotsino is humored by the Senate because no one else wants to do her job._   Keeping tabs on the Rishi Maze was considered a political nightmare, even at the best of times. 

 _Rumors abound that if Rotsino dies in office, the Rishi Maze may secede from the Republic rather than try to find a new representative,_ Qui-Gon sent back, as he settled in between Adi and Plo Koon.

 _That’s what they did the last time.  Granted, choosing to ally themselves with the Separatists was less about politics and more about survival,_ Obi-Wan replied, accepting a second folder from Saesee Tiin.  He hoped Bant could come up with a solution for the state of his office quickly, because Force knew where he was even going to put today’s files.  _It kept the Confederates from ravaging the Maze.  We sure as hell weren’t in the position to help them._

“Let’s begin,” Mace called.  In short order everyone was seated, with only Yoda and Oppo Rancisis absent.  The former was in the creche, tending to his more favored duties; the latter had departed Coruscant, acting as the Jedi representative during the yearly review of the Yinchorri branch of the Judicial Forces.

“The Jedi Council is known to all present, but for our newest member, Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Mace explained, glancing at the Senators.  Obi-Wan managed a terse smile when Esu Rotsino gave him a curious look.  “Senators Rotsino, Vancil, and Organa, this is Jedi Master Orykan Tamarik, accompanied by Reeft, Padawan of Master Binn Ibes.”  Mace went down the table, introducing the Council secretaries who were present, Bant among them.  “Master Jinn is here in official capacity as well, acting as diplomatic advisor for the matters at hand.  And lastly, Queen Amidala is known to you all due to the popularity of Naboo’s disagreement with the Trade Federation.”

Horace Vancil released a great snort of amusement at Mace’s cagey wording.  Obi-Wan wondered how many of those present, aside from the Council, would fail to notice that the reason for the young Queen’s presence had not been mentioned.

Introductions dealt with, Mace delved right into the heart of things.  “We’re all here today because the Prime Minister of Kamino has finally agreed to receive a delegation from the Republic.  While this would normally be presented before the Senate committees, the fact of the matter is that they have strict stipulations.  The first is that the delegation must be fronted by the Jedi Order, or the Kaminoans will deal with none of us at all.”

“What changed?” Bail asked, frowning as he scanned his own folder.  “Up until last week, Prime Minister Lama Su was against receiving any sort of delegation, no matter who fronted it.”

“What changed is our discovery that the Sith acquired some of their cloning cylinders,” Adi Gallia said, glancing at Obi-Wan.  “The Kaminoans seem to be horrified.  They claim they never share their technology with outsiders, and are firm in their belief that Sidious must have stolen it.  They want to know how.”

“They are willing to welcome our delegation, and hear out the Galactic Senate’s political message, in exchange for help in deducing how Sidious managed to override their security,” Mace continued. 

“Those cylinders aren’t small, so it’s not like the man went into Tipoca City and snuck out with the machine tucked under his robes,” Ki-Adi Mundi observed.  Senator Rotsino made a sound of amused agreement.

“Master Orykan Tamarik has agreed to represent the Order.  She will be accompanied by Padawan Reeft as secondary diplomatic envoy for the Jedi,” Obi-Wan said, when Mace silently directed for him to continue.  “Their other stipulation is that the Republic delegation shall be limited to a very small number of representatives, two of whom were requested by the Kaminoan Prime Minister.”

“Senator Organa, as was discussed with Chancellor Valorum and senior Senator Bail Antilles, you are accepting leadership of the Kamino delegation,” Mace said.  “Your reputation has already preceded you on Kamino.”

“Wait.  I’m _lead_?” Bail lifted his head, his eyes wide.  “I’m a junior Senator, Master Jedi.  I don’t have the clout to handle these—”

“Two days ago, Senator Bail Antilles informed the Chancellor that he will be retiring from service in six months,” Mace told him.

“Shit,” Bail whispered, paling.  Vancil eyed him but said nothing, while Rotsino continued to look amused.  “He hadn’t said a word.”  He ran his hands through his hair.  “And instead of elections, I’m getting booted into Senior position.”

“Well, there will be elections, but it’s the Junior position that’ll be up for grabs,” Adi grinned.  “Congratulations, Senator.”  The words were echoed around the table.

Bail sighed.  “Thank you for your kind words.  I take it Esu is my second?” he asked, shaking off his surprise as best he could.

Mace nodded.  “Senator Rotsino is their second choice, as she would be their representative in the Senate if Kamino agrees to join the Republic.”

“Hey, not everyone can say they’ve been able to boss around Rotsino,” Quinlan winked at Bail, which made Rotsino chuckle.

  Mace gave Quinlan a sharp look, annoyed by the interruption.  “Senator Vancil will also be accompanying you.”

“You know, perhaps it would be wise to advise the Kaminoans to choose their own Galactic representative,” Qui-Gon suggested.  “We’ve been trying for years to get a second Senator for the sector, and the excuse of a new member system might override some of the old arguments.”

“They are, technically, not even in the Maze,” Senator Rotsino said, tapping her nails against the tabletop as she considered the proposition.  “Given their location, and the desire to maintain their autonomy, the suggestion is a valid one.”

“Agreed,” Bail seconded, looking hopeful.  “It can be something we discuss with the Prime Minister when we arrive.  That might serve to make our offer seem more appealing.”

“And my role in this shall be?” Senator Vancil asked, looking curious.

“Getting your feet wet,” Rotsino declared, giving him a firm nod.  “You are new to this level of politics, and need both exposure and experience.”

“Given the rather dark mark that the position of Naboo Senator currently bears, it is also felt that the opportunity to shine under the umbrella of a negotiating success would help to diminish that tarnish,” Amidala said, her face grave.  “Your predecessor did much without attaining the favor of those he represented.  My presence here is meant to signal my approval of your tenure on Coruscant, and the Chommell sector’s approval of the Kamino venture.”

“Ah,” Vancil said, his expression pensive.  “And if the Kamino negotiations fail?”

“Then you get to learn how to spin straw into gold,” Bail told him, grinning.  “The challenge with a failure is to make it sound like it was a success for other reasons.”

Vancil raised an eyebrow, inclining his head in gratitude.  “Thank you for being candid.  But I hope it will not be necessary to learn to spin so quickly.”

“Then we are agreed?” Adi asked, and received confirmation from each Senator.  “Master Tamarik and Padawan Reeft will communicate with the three of you over the coming week, to make sure that the delegation comes together in a timely manner.  The Kaminoans are anxious to conduct this meeting, and it would be wise not to waste the opportunity.  Knight Vos?”

“Right,” Quinlan said, giving the group a half-hearted smile.  “I’m here because of Jenna Zan Arbor and Uta S’orn’s mutual breakouts from their respective penal colonies three weeks ago.”

“Oh, balls,” Senator Rotsino swore.  “That woman, again?  The pair of them caused such trouble last time,” she said, her eyes narrowed.  “We don’t need that nonsense again.  Are you going after her, Knight Vos?”

Quinlan nodded.  “Both my Padawan and I will be tracking her, Senator.  The initial search teams have had no luck, but I know that my Padawan and I can find her, no matter what hole Zan Arbor has crawled into.  We’re hopeful that we can bring her in before it becomes another court trial for biological abuses.”

The Abrion representative smiled.  “I thank you.  I had to sit through her last trial.  I have no wish to hear of her exploits a second time.”

“Nor I,” Qui-Gon murmured.

“And thus, I lose a set of bodyguards,” Amidala lamented, smiling at Quinlan.

“Lose?”  Quinlan grinned.  “Your Highness, there are still Jedi watching over you.  You just won’t meet them unless circumstances call for it.”

“Yes, my family, too,” Obi-Wan answered the unspoken question when Padmé looked at him in surprise.  “We are not slacking from our watch against the Sith, even if it may initially appear to be so.”

“Sneaky,” Bail noted.  “I approve.”

“You have your own tails keeping an eye to your safety, Senator Organa,” Plo Koon informed him, which made Bail lean back in surprise. 

“Why me?”

“Your ties to the Jedi are strong, both because of your family and your public record on Order/Republic relations.  You’re far more vocal about such things than senior Senator Antilles ever was.  It would have been easy enough for Sidious to try to take advantage of that,” Mace explained.

“Don’t look at me,” Obi-Wan said, when Bail did exactly that.  “I was neither Councilor nor coherent when that decision was made.”

“Anyway,” Quinlan said, recalling the conversation by thudding his fist once against the tabletop.  “I do have several things to say before we continue.”  Noting that everyone had turned their attention back towards him, Quinlan continued.  “For the moment, S’orn concerns me less than Zan Arbor.  We have a datamonger—”

Mace cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, a data profiler,” Quinlan corrected himself, on the verge of rolling his eyes.  “We have a data profiler looking for S’orn through more traditional channels, as S’orn’s status as former Republic Senator gives her access to avenues of exploitation that Zan Arbor cannot attain on her own.  If this were a normal case, finding S’orn would lead to Zan Arbor, but those two have never had a standard partnership.  Given the fact that Zan Arbor caused the death of S’orn’s son, it’s probable they are not even working together.”

“Or S’orn is working with Zan Arbor only for the opportunity to take revenge,” Rotsino cut in.  “Uta was always far more wily than she was given credit for.”

Quinlan nodded.  “Also possible.  Right now we are discounting nothing.  In the meantime, Zan Arbor’s status as a wanted felon limits her opportunities to claim Jedi to perform her experiments on.  But there are more Force sensitives in this galaxy than us.  The Republic needs to be made aware that even our very minor sensitives are at risk.  We must all keep watch; if she wants something badly enough, Jenna Zan Arbor will kidnap whoever she feels is the best test subject for her research.  Her capture _must_ be a Republic concern.”

Bail sighed.  “All right.  I’ll talk to Senator Antilles.  Between the two of us we have enough allies in the Senate to get a motion on the floor to get this issue taken public.”

“And I have enough allies to see to it that a vote is called, whether Mas Amedda likes it or not,” Rotsino added darkly.

“The Vice Chancellor misses the provisional power he used to have over the Chancellor’s office,” Bail explained to Vancil, when the other man looked confused.  “When it was revealed that Palpatine helped to orchestrate the scandal against Chancellor Valorum, Amedda lost his special grant to block the Chancellor’s actions.”

“Which is why we’re able to have gatherings such as these once more,” Saesee Tiin said, a devious smile on his face.  “Chancellor Valorum is allowed to call his own damn meetings again.”

Vancil was outraged.  “That’s what that period of fruitless idling was about?  How in the bloody hell—excuse me, gracious ladies—how in the universe did they expect the Chancellor to be able to do his job?”

“Certain parties in the Senate, who _cannot_ be found liable, even though we know the truth of the matter, did not wish for Finis Valorum to be Chancellor,” Qui-Gon said, a faint scowl on his face.  “They did an excellent job of tying his hands, the better to promote their own agenda.”

“Which was, in fact, a Sith’s agenda,” Aayla Secura said, and then blushed violet.

Vancil scrubbed at his face with one hand.  “Then whom do I trust, Masters Jedi?”

“Your people,” said Amidala.

“Your intuition,” said Mace.

“Your knowledge of right and wrong,” Obi-Wan added.  “And don’t be afraid to push back.”

“Mm, yes.  Push Tikkes down the stairs, while you’re at it,” Rotsino murmured.

“Esu!” Orykan Tamarik gave the elder Senator a stern look.  “I happen to like this new Senator, and we’ve precious few that are likeable.  Let’s see if he proves useful, first.  _Then_ you can have him deal with Senator Tikkes.”

Rotsino roared with laughter while Mace glowered at the Twi’lek Knight.  “You’ve been in the Maze too damn long, Tamarik.”

“Yes, Master Windu,” she agreed, smiling.

“I’m not pushing anyone down any stairs,” Vancil said, frowning.  “Senator Yarua would never forgive me if I spoiled his fun.”

There was a beat of silence around the table, and then everyone assembled was fighting some form of laughter.  “Oh, Force,” Bail managed around chuckles.  “Horace Vancil, I believe you’ll fit in just fine.”

Vancil nodded, his eyes full of mirth.  “I’m not entirely ignorant of Senate workings, Senator Organa, and the Wookiee Yarua’s conflict with Tikkes is legendary.”

“We’ll introduce you to our allies before leaving for Kamino,” Rotsino announced, and Obi-Wan was not the only person in the room who shared a pointed look with a companion.  Rotsino had made such a gesture only five times in her entire career.

“In the meantime, I must return our attention to the Kamino matter for other reasons,” the elder Senator continued, frowning.  “I do not doubt the Order’s word that the Sith Lord is using cloning technology, but how can we be certain the cloning technology is actually Kaminoan?  I’m sure the Kaminoans will have similar questions, and I’d like to have the best information I can get for this visit.  There are other options out there, such as the Spaarti cylinders.”

“The Spaarti tend to produce unreliable results for full body growth,” Saesee Tiin answered.  “We don’t even use them for organ cloning, given the cellular instability the Spaarti cylinders are known for.  For full body production, Sidious would have wanted the best.”

“Which, I believe, takes us to the third component of this meeting,” Amidala said, her hand resting on the folder that Saesee had handed out just before the meeting began.

Adi nodded.  “It does.  Your Highness, Senators: you were also called to this meeting because you each hail from planets that allow the cloning of organs for medical replacement.  Your home systems are among the very few who allow such cloning.  Even the fact that the Jedi Order grows replacement options is not well-known in the Republic.  We make no secret that we do such things, but for political expediency, it remains a quiet matter.”

Qui-Gon muttered something about neutrality, making it sound like a dirty word.

Rotsino sighed.  “I was wondering what sort of bait we were to dangle before the Kaminoans to attract them to Republic membership, given their craft.  Masters Jedi, you realize the bias we will face, both in the Senate and in public.  Cloning of full beings has been illegal almost since the technology was created.  Even organ cloning is looked upon as a despicable practice.”

“And it is a bias that we must work to overcome, now more than ever,” Depa Billaba said, inclining her head at the older Senator.  “Palpatine’s abuses aside, Kamino is an opportunity to show others that more good than harm can come of such technology.”

Bail raised a hand.  “I, for one, would like to see the available technology improved.  Alderaan allows the practice, but due to the issue that Master Tiin spoke of with the Spaarti cylinders, we have too many limits to what we can currently do for our people.  We have success with only a limited number of internal organs.  Even bionic limb replacement is a joke.”

“Kamino won’t join the Republic if they think their sole economic venue will be made illegal.  But, if they become a primary medical supplier…” Adi let her words hang in the air.

Quinlan whistled.  “They’d be rich.  _If_ the rest of the Republic will go for it.”

“And as a final kicker, consider this: Kamino cannot become an ally of the Sith.  As a neutral body, they will do the work of whoever pays them.  If they’re Republic-contracted and aligned, the Sith will have one less venue of dominion to pursue,” Obi-Wan said, glancing from face to face as he spoke.  There were no dissenting voices or expressions, not this time.  Unlike some issues, there was no Council member willing to argue against Kamino’s tactical importance.

Bail nodded.  “It sounds as if we need a public relations campaign.  A delegation is one thing, but getting the Republic to accept Kamino’s eccentricities in order for the Senate vote to pass…”

“I take it the Chancellor’s unofficial position is of approval for this course of action?” Rotsino asked, practically smirking at Mace.

“Chancellor Valorum is choosing to maintain public neutrality until the delegation returns with its initial findings,” Mace replied.  “If the Kaminoans lean towards Republic membership, then Chancellor Valorum will announce his official stance.  In the meantime, you have his quiet support, Senator.”

“Good.  Finis has shown an astute backbone since Sidious’s unmasking,” Rotsino said.  “I’m glad that trend seems to be continuing.”

“Bail’s idea is sound, and I have a suggestion on the route it may take.”  Obi-Wan glanced down the table.  “But that will depend upon Queen Amidala and Senator Vancil.”

Padmé inclined her head.  “I’m listening.”

“How many citizens of Naboo needed cloned replacements, of any sort, after the Battle of Theed?” Obi-Wan asked.  He knew the numbers, but at least half of those present did not.

Her expression saddened, but her gaze was shrewd.  The clever girl knew exactly what he was getting at.  “Far too many, Master Jedi.”

“A documentary?”  Ki-Adi Mundi was frowning in thought.  “It is an effective communications tool.”

“And there is still a great deal of public sympathy for the plight of the Naboo, even a year past the resolution of the invasion,” Obi-Wan pointed out.

“Propaganda,” Qui-Gon rumbled, managing to make the word sound almost as bad as his earlier grumble about neutrality.

 “A useful tool,” Ki-Adi Mundi countered.

“That depends entirely on your point of view,” Qui-Gon retorted.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid my current viewpoint is limited to “Jedi Good, Sith Bad,”’ Obi-Wan snapped.

“A not entirely unreasonable point of view,” Padmé said dryly.  “I appreciate the argument, Master Qui-Gon, but in this instance, I will regard propaganda as a necessary evil.  As Senator Organa has stated, the current cloning technology available is still woefully insufficient.  If galactic conflict breaks out, the Kaminoan talent will be sorely needed.”

Obi-Wan watched Mace and Adi exchange glances.  “And you believe that to be a possibility, Your Highness?” Mace asked, giving her an intent look.

“The war started on my doorstep, Master Windu,” Padmé replied, lifting her chin.  “Until Sidious is found, I am not so foolish as to believe the Republic is safe.”

That seemed to confirm a decision Adi had made, for she smiled.  “My sister used to, ah, have relations with a very well-known documentary ‘vid maker.  With your permission, Your Highness, I can make a call and get him onto Naboo the moment he’s available.”

Padmé nodded.  “I have only two stipulations.  The first:  He must interview only those who _wish_ to be interviewed.  If I hear otherwise, he’ll have to deal directly with me for harassing my people.  The second:  Myself and Senator Vancil are to have final say on the footage to be published before the documentary is made public.  That way we have another line of verification to make certain that this filmmaker is using the truth as his weapon, not lies.”

“Since our position is actually in the positive at the moment, it might be a good idea to see if anyone in the Order would consent to be interviewed, as well,” Ki-Adi Mundi said, glancing at Qui-Gon to see if he would argue the point.  Obi-Wan’s mate rolled his eyes.

“That’s a good idea.  Add the hero of the Republic to the documentary and folks will be lining up to see it,” Bail said, grinning at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan winced.  Just what he needed—more people staring at him, under the same stupid title, in more damned propaganda.  Fortunately, he had a convenient escape hatch.  “That’s a nice idea, but I haven’t actually had any sort of replacement surgery yet.”

Rotsino frowned.  “Forgive my ignorance on the matter, but shouldn’t that have been performed on Naboo, before your leave of absence from the Order?”

“On Naboo, there must be at least a twenty-five percent chance of survival before organ replacement surgery will be performed,” Padmé said, answering on behalf of her planet.  “The only allowed exception is if the patient will die without the replacement.”

“And your survival chances were listed as…?” Bail asked, turning a worried glare on Obi-Wan.

He leaned back in his chair, thinking.  “I haven’t looked up the numbers in a while, but I think the listed survival chance for torso damage from a concentrated plasma-based energy weapon is…five percent?” he asked, glancing at Adi for confirmation.

Adi nodded.  “For a great deal of non-humanoid species, yes.  For humanoid species, the survival percentage is listed as less than one percent.”

This time it was Rotsino who swore; Bail just looked ill.  “Blessed gods, lad,” Vancil said, giving Obi-Wan a shocked look.  “How in the worlds are you still sitting here?  You should be a ghost!”

“I almost was one,” Obi-Wan admitted.  “I lucked out on three fronts.  It was a quick, in-and-out jab.  If Droga had lingered over the kill, or done a better job at placing his lightsaber, I would have died instantly.  As it is, I still have a kidney, most of my liver escaped damage, and I don’t necessarily _need_ a spleen.”  Granted, there was a list of planets that wouldn’t allow him to visit without one.  It had been one of the highlights of Abella’s argument for getting him back into surgery.  “They don’t really like throwing replacement organs at you if they think it will be a waste.”

“No wonder you were gone for a year,” Rotsino said, fighting another smile.  “If my compatriots grumble about your presence on the Council during your Confirmation, I plan to slyly insinuate that you seem to be immortal.”

“The man’s been in the Healers’ Ward for a life-threatening injury every two years since he was fourteen Standard,” Depa said, her mouth twitching suspiciously.  “It wouldn’t surprise _me._ ”

“I only heard two things mentioned, though,” Vancil insisted.  “What was the third?”

Padmé broke into a broad grin.  “Lifebonds are not only a matter for songs, Senator.”

“Songs?” Obi-Wan gave her a sharp look, intensified by Adi’s cut-short giggle.  “What songs?”

 

*          *          *          *

 

If opportunity allowed, Qui-Gon tried to read something from Obi-Wan’s journals each night.  He’d tried to return the permission Obi-Wan had granted him after the Battle of Theed, sent in an automated message meant to be received upon death.  Obi-Wan had merely looked amused and handed him the entire _stack_.

“You’ve done all this in four years?” he’d asked in shock, while they were still on Kaazcint.  Garen had brought the journals from the Temple at Obi-Wan’s request, if only so he could start writing again. 

“Well, these,” Obi-Wan touched the top five, “are copies of the ones I originally wrote on Tatooine.  I spent a lot of time, effort, and swearing, writing down what I did, and I wanted it back.  I recreated them from memory; they’re as intact as they’re ever going to get.  The rest are…well.”  Obi-Wan had grinned and pointed to a specific one.  It was bound in leather, purchased by Qui-Gon and gifted to Obi-Wan for his eighteenth birthday, right before the Yinchorri Uprising.  “The other three started with this one.”

Tonight Qui-Gon had chosen one of the Tatooine journals, a book that covered the final years Obi-Wan would spend on the planet, living as a Jedi in exile: 

_There was a young man who met a wise sage on his travels.  The sage asked the young man: "To whence are you going?"_

_The young man said: "I'm just walking, because I have no place to go, and I'm in no hurry to get there."_

_The wise sage was not known as such because of his age, and his eyes were shrewd.  "Ah," said the wise sage.  "You are looking for something."_

_The young man was honest, for he was taught to be polite to his elders.  "Yes."_

_"Ah," the wise sage said again.  "But there is a problem."_

_The young man nodded.  "Yes, wise one.  What I want is beyond my reach."_

_The wise sage smiled.  "Perhaps you should buy a pair of stilts," he said, and bid the young man farewell._

_The young man frowned, and, feeling like a fool on a fool's errand, he purchased a pair of stilts in the next town, which was hosting a traveling carnival.  A carnie with a flint eye and a wide smile taught him how to walk on his stilts in exchange for more of the young man's coin.  This left him very poor indeed, but nature fed him well, and he was not concerned._

_The young man tightened his pack, hopped upon his stilts, and began walking down the road.  He still felt very foolish._

_But as he walked, he looked around, and saw things he had never seen before, and never would have.  The higher branches of the trees were full of bird nests, each crowded with fledglings about to fly.  The tall grass seemed to wave in the breeze, rippling like the ocean he'd left far behind.  The air was clear, not full of the dust from the road that he stirred up with each wooden step.  He could see his path stretching out before him, a long ribbon of brown against the green, and the horizon seemed less distant than before._

_The young man smiled.  The old man was a wise sage, indeed._

_Perhaps what he wanted was not so unreachable, after all._

 

Obi-Wan entered their bedroom after Qui-Gon had read the last line.  His mate smiled when he discovered Qui-Gon lying in their bed.  “Ah, just where I wanted you.”

That was an excellent idea, but Qui-Gon had an opinion to voice, first.  “Obi-Wan, this is incredible,” he said.  He held out the journal, open to the story, when Obi-Wan gave him a curious look.

“Oh, yes,” Obi-Wan said after a moment, his eyes flicking back and forth as he re-read the text.  “I remember this.  That was a strange dream.”

“You dreamed that?” Qui-Gon asked, as Obi-Wan marked the page and set the journal aside.

“Mm,” Obi-Wan said, taking a moment to run his hand over the leather cover.  “I had a lot of vivid dreams in my final years there.  I’d say they were less Force-visions and more…stories, I guess.  I think my subconscious was dreadfully bored, and thus started putting interesting things together for me to look at when I closed my eyes.  Of course, this was also just after one of my slips.”

“Slips?”

“I didn’t write it down.  I wasn’t proud of it,” Obi-Wan said, staring down at the book.  “I’d just finished an entire year not speaking to another soul, living or dead.  When a Jawa caravan came through, I traded for alcohol and did my best to become stone-blind drunk.  That story is what came to me in my sleep that night.”

Qui-Gon sighed, but did not judge; he doubted he would have maintained a Jedi’s serenity at all times if it had been himself in Obi-Wan’s place.  “Despite its potentially liquid origins, it’s a tale I’d love to see given to the Padawans,” Qui-Gon said, watching Obi-Wan as he moved around the room, shedding belt and clothes, putting each thing where it belonged in turn.  It was like witnessing an active meditation, and Qui-Gon didn’t doubt that Obi-Wan’s bedtime habits were a holdover from desert exile.  “Though really, these books should be in the Temple Archives.”

Obi-Wan made a face.  “Gods, please no.  At least let’s wait until I’m deceased and no longer give a Bantha’s ass that people like dear Tahl are dissecting my private thoughts.”

Sensing Obi-Wan’s discomfort with the idea, Qui-Gon shrugged where he lay.  “Then that’s how it will be,” he said.  “Come here.”

“Have something in mind, then?” Obi-Wan asked, starting to smile.

“Sex,” Qui-Gon replied. 

The smile became a grin.  “Delightful.  Any details?”

“I think I would very much like it if you were to fuck me.”

“Oh?”  Obi-Wan tried for nonchalant, but a full-body shiver wracked his lean frame. 

“Well.  If you think it’s a good idea,” Qui-Gon teased.

Obi-Wan simply gazed down at him for a minute, his eyes gone almost green with lust.  “No, I happen to think it’s a fantastic idea, you blasted pirate.  Fuck, you can be so—so— _verbal._ ”

“Verbal?” he repeated, smiling.

“You said that and I started to drool,” Obi-Wan informed him, shucking the remainder of his clothes in three short movements.

He caught his spouse in his arms, running his hands down Obi-Wan’s bare back.  “From both ends, I see,” he rumbled, feeling cooling dampness smear against his thigh.

Obi-Wan chuckled.  “Obviously.”

He was looking up into his spouse’s eyes, content and very much ready to enjoy the evening, when the comm chimed for attention.  Both of their comms.

Obi-Wan froze just before their lips touched.  “No.  No, no, no…”

The comms chimed again—all three of them.  Qui-Gon could hear the faint sound coming from the comm embedded in the wall, which they had both forgotten to deactivate after a replacement had been acquired.

“Fuuuuuuck!” Obi-Wan ground out, and then took a deep breath.  “Miserable blasted timing.”

“In that we are agreed,” he said, and had to take a moment to shake off his own moment of temper.  He hadn’t been interrupted in such a manner in—well—decades.

“I think it’s going to start happening a lot more often,” Obi-Wan said in reply to the unvoiced thought, and then answered his comm.  “Kenobi.”

“Is Qui-Gon with you?”

“Should I bother answering this, then?” Qui-Gon responded, frowning, as he regarded the noisy device in his hand.  Mace was always blunt, but he wasn’t rude unless the need was dire.

“No, don’t bother.  It was just Adi trying to raise you in case you weren’t in the same room.  I need you both in the Council chamber the moment you’re able to get here.”

The call terminated in the next breath.  Obi-Wan swore and sat down to start pulling on the clothes he’d just thrown to the floor.  “This had better not be another Yinchorr.”

“Padawans?” Qui-Gon asked, pulling open a drawer.  His own laundry for the day was already down the chute, in the hands of the cleaning droids.

Obi-Wan paused before shaking his head.  “Mace didn’t say, and Anakin’s already down for the night.  I don’t want to wake him unless I have to.  He’s been skimping on sleep to work on blueprints.”

Rillian was asleep too, but the Wookiee roused easily.  In fact, she was waking even as he reached through the training bond to check.  _Master?_ she responded, a groggy note in her mental voice.  _Something’s wrong?_

 _I have no idea,_ he sent back.  _We’ve been called by the Council.  Obi-Wan isn’t planning to wake Anakin unless it becomes necessary, but you may join us if you wish._   His newest Padawan hadn’t spent much time in the Council chamber, and had yet to see a mission briefing aside from the group briefing before Naboo.  The experience would be good for her, even if it led to nothing.

“No, it’s definitely something,” Obi-Wan said, pulling a shirt over his head instead of dealing with his tunics.  “Yoda is not pleased.  He also says,” Obi-Wan continued, his eyes unfocused as he listened to the ancient Master, “that bringing Rillian with us is a good idea.”

Qui-Gon didn’t have to send for Rillian again; she was waiting for them in the main room when he came out of the bedroom.  She had both of their robes in her arms, and was blinking, wide-eyed and owl-like, in the dim light of their quarters.  He accepted his robe and smiled, ruffling the short-cropped fur on her head as they stepped out into the hall, with Obi-Wan just behind them.

“Master Licia has missed three check-ins in a row,” Mace said, the moment the doors closed behind their small group.  Only he, Yoda, and Depa Billaba were present; Depa was still in her nightdress, with a brown robe thrown hastily on over it.

“Damn,” Obi-Wan said, accompanied by a swift, sharp spike of tension through the bond.  “Sithspit, Mace, I can’t go—I can’t reschedule at least three of the things I have to do this week.”

“I know,” Mace replied, a worried cast to his features.  “I leave the choice to Qui-Gon.  There are others who could go, but they won’t have as much familiarity with the situation as he will.”

“I am missing key facts about this conversation,” Qui-Gon cut in, irritated.  “Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Master Licia was overseeing the renewed negotiations for the Republic membership of Tholatin,” Depa said, her voice soft.

His blood froze in his veins, the air stilled in his lungs, and his throat seized.  Then long years of experience overcame memory, and Qui-Gon could breathe again.  “I wasn’t aware that they were trying.  It’s been fourteen years since their last attempt.”  _They couldn’t even finish the original negotiating process the first time without murdering each other._

“Tholatin submitted their new petition last month.  Master Licia was present for two weeks before she missed her scheduled check-ins.  The Tholatin consulate, when contacted, claimed to be unaware that Master Licia was in any sort of difficulty.  All of her updates prior to this suggested that everything was going well, but considering what happened to our last Tholatin delegate…” Mace trailed off, raising his hands in a frustrated shrug.

Qui-Gon nodded before glancing down at Rillian.  “I suppose if I were to suggest that you stay here, you’d refuse.”

Rillian smiled.  [If I can go with you to Naboo to deal with a Sith, I can go anywhere else.]

He smiled back, thinking that both Rillian and Obi-Wan had been Padawans capable of astute logic at the worst possible times.  He wouldn’t have it any other way.  “Obi-Wan?”

“It’s probably a good thing I’m not going,” Obi-Wan said, managing a smile of his own.  “I think I’d be far too tempted to punch a great number of people in the face.”

“Let’s not do that to your reputation just yet,” he agreed.  “I’ve gone over the basics with Rillian, but it was months ago, and the lesson has never been put into practice.  Padawan, will you show this young Padawan what she needs to do?” he asked, and the formal words felt strange on his tongue.

Obi-Wan’s head jerked a nod, shocked by the raw formality of the request.  “I would be ever honored, Master.”  He turned to Rillian and gave her a cheerful smile, his eyes too-bright.  “Come, Raallandirr,” he said, guiding the bemused Wookiee Padawan from the chamber.  “While your Master is briefed by the Council, you and I have things to do.”

Qui-Gon turned his attention back to the other three Councilors, and caught the expression on Yoda’s face before the old being had the chance to hide it.  “You knew I’d say yes,” he said, scowling.  “Stop looking so damn smug.”

Yoda didn’t comment, but twitched one long, pointed ear.

Qui-Gon shook his head.  _Meddler_ , he thought fondly, before looking at Mace.  “Tell me what I need to know.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

A few hours before dawn, everything was settled: bags were packed, transport had been arranged, and Qui-Gon had a data disk full of Licia’s reports on Tholatin’s current situation.  He’d made sure to add a pertinent newsfeed listing to the disk, highlights of Tholatin’s history since his last trip to the damned planet. 

Qui-Gon visited the Healers’ Ward, catching one of the Padawans on duty to receive the histamine blockers that were now a necessity.  Frustrated with the time it took, he wound up plucking the hypospray from the sleepy girl’s hand and administering it himself.

“But you’re not supposed to _do_ that!” she squeaked, her eyes finally coming all the way open.

“Complain to your Master,” he told her, signing off on the form with one hand and tossing the used hypo into the discard bin with the other.  Perhaps he should have been less brusque, but in six hours he was going to be in a shipboard ’fresher, sicking up everything in his stomach from the damned shot.  Impending, unavoidable nausea was enough to make anyone irritable.

He walked through the barrier for one of the exterior landing pads and a cool breeze wafted over his face, a welcome balm after several hours of rushed preparations.  Obi-Wan and Rillian were waiting, and his timing was perfect; the transport was coming in for a landing.  Qui-Gon’s nose twitched as he became enveloped in the swirling dust-clouds that the ship’s repulsors stirred up, but the histamine blockers were already at work.

Rillian had both of their packs, one slung over each shoulder, and was disinclined to let him carry his own.  He gave Obi-Wan a stern look, but his mate just grinned at him.

“She asked about how I used to handle things,” Obi-Wan explained.  “I gave her the expectations; she can make her own decisions about the rest.”

Qui-Gon looked heavenwards, pretending to sigh.  “Of course.  That’s three Padawans now who think I’m incapable of carrying my own luggage.”

“Not Xan?” Obi-Wan asked, his eyes dancing.

“Xanatos would, if I asked,” Qui-Gon said, aware that Rillian was paying rapt attention to their conversation.  “But he always looked at me as if I were being ridiculous.  He was adamant about carrying his own weight, but balked when it came to anyone else’s.”

[That seems like a silly mindset for a Jedi to have,] Rillian hedged.

“You’d be surprised how many of us think exactly like that,” Qui-Gon said, exchanging a look with Obi-Wan.  Not everyone in the Order held an altruistic mindset.  “But in his case, I didn’t mind so much.  If there was one thing I was certain of in regards to Xan, it was that he would _never_ make a good diplomat.  He was very independent-minded; I suspected at the time that he would have wound up with the Shadows after passing his Trials.”

“If it hadn’t been for Sidious, he might well have wound up there,” Obi-Wan said, and squeezed Qui-Gon’s hand, both for reassurance and because the boarding ramp of the waiting shuttle had lowered.  “Time to go.”

[We’ll see you soon, Master Obi-Wan,] Rillian said, heading to the boarding ramp with a cheerful bark.  Through the training bond, her sense of excitement was a bright line of fire, just barely tempered by her awareness that this was as much a potential rescue mission as it was a diplomatic venture.

At least one of them was looking forward to the mess.  _They had just one last treaty before the membership agreement was finalized,_ he thought, remembering that time with far too much clarity _.  One. Blasted. Last. Treaty._

“Well, at least Licia has gotten them back to that part,” Obi-Wan said, pressing close against Qui-Gon’s side.  “You’ll be fine.  You’re less foolish now than you were then, love.”

“I think certain parties in the Temple believe that’s still up for debate,” he said, flexing the fingers of his right hand.

“Don’t,” Obi-Wan murmured, shaking his head.  “They have no power over you unless you give it to them, and Rillian would have a field day with you if you tried.”

That made him smile.  “Speaking of Padawans, I’m sure she’s ready to be off,” Qui-Gon said, and pulled his spouse into his arms.  Obi-Wan was pliant and warm, and a fierce reminder that Tholatin could just go take a flying fuck, as far as he was concerned.

Obi-Wan laughed softly, a warm breath of air against his lips.  “I think our dear Wookiee is right.  I _am_ a bad influence.”  He stepped back, regret in his eyes as he let go of Qui-Gon’s hand.  “May the Force be with you, Qui.”

“And with you,” he replied, smile widening.  “Don’t set anything on fire while I’m gone.”

The answering laugh warmed him as much as Obi-Wan’s body had, and Qui-Gon managed to join Rillian without looking back.  The shuttle lifted off the moment he had the boarding ramp sealed, which meant that their timetable was short.  He was surprised the pilot hadn’t been on loudspeaker, demanding that he hurry the hell up.

Rillian was standing with one hand gripping a support bar, gazing out of the main viewport as the Temple became smaller and smaller beneath them.  [Should I wait to unpack, or is this dinky thing taking us all the way to Tholatin?]

“Don’t unpack,” he advised.  “I wouldn’t even get comfortable.  We’ll be switching to a merchant frigate with a stopover in the Tholate system when we hit orbit.”

They completed a rapid vessel exchange in tertiary orbit, right amid a mess of cargo vessels waiting to ferry their goods down to Coruscant.  The merchant ship’s air had a tangy, earthen scent in the air that reminded him of plant stock.  “Definitely an agricultural vessel,” he said, when Rillian wandered from one end of the common room to the other, sniffing with keen interest.  “Empty, though, since it’s heading out for stock instead of in.  We’ll be able to use the cargo bay for sparring when we get bored.”

They would be bored, too—Tholatin was at least a week and a half out from Coruscant with good engines, and this was a slow ship. Qui-Gon estimated their travel time at sixteen days.

Force. They were going to be gone at least a month from travel time alone.

His only reassurance about the length of the trip was that so far, Licia’s Master, T’ra Saa, seemed certain that her former Padawan remained in good health. Licia could still be in danger, but her situation was not yet critical. Even if it had been, he and Rillian were only two days closer than the nearest Jedi team available to make the trip.

Rillian, overhearing the nature of his thoughts, sighed. [Then I’ll have plenty of time to make my course selections for the upcoming semester.]

“We’ll have plenty of time for a lot of things,” Qui-Gon agreed, as Rillian finally allowed him to take hold of his own pack. “We’ve been granted a kindness as well, Padawan. This ship has separate berths for each of us.” He’d lost count of the times he and Obi-Wan had been stuck in one berth. Then Anakin had joined them, and three bodies had done the interesting shuffle of trying to share one bunk to keep off of a space-cold metal floor.

She grinned at the notion. [Can you imagine when it’s _all_ of us trying to cram onto a single bunk?] she asked, chuckling. [Especially when Skywalker and I both start growing. We’ll wake up tied in knots!]

“My back will be a knot all of its own,” Qui-Gon said, amused. “Come on. Let’s settle in, Rillian. We’ll be here for a while, and might as well make ourselves at home. We’ll meet the ship’s crew when they’re done getting us out of Coruscant traffic.”

Rillian complied, snagging her pack and darting into the berth she’d been assigned. Qui-Gon followed at a slower pace, palming open the door to his temporary quarters. Single bunk, too short but not the worst he’d seen. Terminal with a chair bolted in place. A single viewport, currently filled with the sidewall of a carbon-scored freighter wall…

…and no Obi-Wan.

 _Sithspit and shite,_ he grumbled, setting his pack down on the bunk as he sighed. This was going to be harder to get used to than he’d initially thought.

Qui-Gon opened his bag and then swore out loud, plucking the leather-wrapped, blue-sheened lightsaber hilt from the top of his bag. “You didn’t, you ridiculous, ridiculous man…”

A parchment strip had been wrapped around the hilt of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. Qui-Gon pulled it off and unrolled the note, wondering what kind of explanation he had been provided with.

_I’m only a thought away if you need me. Keep it as a reminder of that and more. I love you._

Then it continued:

_I am a Jedi Master in a Temple full of Jedi, and I can borrow a lightsaber if I really need one. Stop frowning at me like that._

That made him chuckle, because he _had_ been frowning. “I love you, as well,” he said softly. He made short work of unpacking, and then went to rejoin Rillian in the ship’s small common room with the welcome weight of a second, noisy-crystal lightsaber at his side.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Circle Shift [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6339721) by [the_dragongirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dragongirl/pseuds/the_dragongirl)




End file.
